


My Watch Never Started

by Nightflyer



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Eventual Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Like everything happens in the future, Like really in the future, Lots of friendship early on, MEGA SLOW BURN, Main characters will die, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, R plus L equals J, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-02-03 10:11:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 41,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12746220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightflyer/pseuds/Nightflyer
Summary: Jon Snow rides north to the Wall to join the famous Night's Watch, but something feels off before he arrives. When he sees a raven above, his fears are confirmed. A phrase is said for ravens, "Dark Wings, Dark Words". And these Dark Words put Jon on a path he never expected.





	1. Jon I

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there, first time writer here with an idea I had whilst showering one day. Kinda led to me writing from the beginning of the show to the end of Season 6. Of course I've been brushing it over for a couple months now, but with several chapters sitting there doing nothing, I though why not release them.  
> Hope you guys can somewhat enjoy my late night writings.

After riding for days, all Jon wanted was to rest in a bed. He cared not if was stiff, anything was better than the cold hard ground that the North had offered on the way there. Jon was just fortunate that Ghost would stay with him during the night, keeping him warm from the long, cold winds.

As they crossed over the bleak hill, the brutal winds calmed and before them lay the greatest structure in the Seven Kingdoms – The Wall. As he had progressed North, Jon had noticed the lack of the great men that the Nights Watch – the Protectors of the Realm – had been known for. Once made of Knights, now made up of rapists and thieves. He was very thankful that he and Tyrion had bonded however, noticing how the man’s wit had challenged both him and the ideas about what the Watch really does. And, in a way, it made him feel a longing to go home like he didn’t belong at the Wall. And somehow, recently at night he could sense Ghost feeling down, like his siblings were communicating some sadness from Winterfell. He shook his head, throwing those thoughts away, and solemnly caught up with Tyrion and his Uncle Benjen who was First Ranger at the Watch. As he had spoken to them thoroughly for most of the journey north, Jon found that he wasn’t wanting a conversation.

Looking closely, he could start to see the outline of a small stronghold on the side of the Wall with an elevator to the top – Castle Black. He could notice four tall grey towers outside the main complex with the main complex consisting of four larger but shorter towers that looked better kept with three walls, as one of the wall was The Wall itself. He knew from speaking to Benjen that there was a large hall, armoury and everything else you’d expect to find in a castle. With a twinge of excitement he decided to change his trot into a slow gallop, in which the other men and Ghost followed. He knew not of why he wanted to get there faster, but something called out to him – and he wasn’t sure if it was to be good or bad.

When he galloped through the gates with Benjen and company, the Lord Commander just looked at them with pity in his eyes, writhing his hands over one another as the raven stared at Jon with a curiosity in his eyes. In the corner of his eye, he spotted Benjen turn towards him.

“Jon, I think we should talk with Jeor.” Jon just nodded in reply, thinking it weird to have such a casual relationship with a superior.

Jon followed Benjen down a corridor and up a flight of stairs towards the office of the Lord Commander. Jon blocks the door, attempting to prevent Ghost from following but in the end gave up after the wolf just leaped over his leg. As they enter the room, Jon spots a letter with a broken Stark seal on the desk. Jon’s heart just dropped with worry believing that something had happened to Bran, but instead of looking towards Jon who would’ve been more affected, the Lord Commander look towards Benjen instead.

“I’m sure both of you are wondering why you’re hear. I got this letter from Winterfell only a couple hours ago.” He turned towards Jon. “There has been an attempt on your brother’s life.”

Jon caught the twinge of sadness and confusion on his uncle’s face, as Jon stood strong, trying to hold back his emotions. “Why would they attempt to kill my nephew – he is a crippled boy.”

“That I do not know – it says here that a direwolf saved his life. I can honestly say I didn’t believe it but after seeing yours boy, I can tell that this letter speaks truth.” Inside a terrible time, the men found a moment to crack a small smile, be it at the relief of that moment or the dry humour.

“Then what is it Jeor? Surely the way you were looking at us wasn’t only for that” Benjen said, his smile being lost in worry once more.

The man sighed and raised himself out of his seat and strode towards the window, the raven never leaving his shoulder. His grey hair and beard blew in the wind and the marks on his face made him seem older.

“During the attack, Catelyn was at his bedside, in her attempt to save Bran, she tried to hold the knife away from him – but as it was Valyrian steel, it cut straight through her hand.”

Benjen violently stood up, his chair tipping behind him. “Catelyn? Valyrian Steel? How does an assassin get hold of that?”

“Benjen, your brother has people looking into it. But that’s not the worst of it.”

Jon knew what was coming next. He wanted to deny it. She had treated him like dirtiest, foulest filth she had ever seen, but even he was slightly broken by it – mainly because of his siblings. Robb was older and would be able to put on a straight face in public. But Bran and Rickon, they were still children. He needed to be with them. He then thought of his sisters, riding South, with only each other as comfort. Sansa would struggle, she had been closest to Catelyn after all. But his mind went to Arya, that crazy young wolf. He was closer to her than anyone else, and even didn't know what she would do. He hoped for a moment that everything was going to be fine, and that all this was in his mind.

Jeor sighed, lowering his head. “Her throat was cut by the attacker, but by the time the wolf had dealt with him, he had dealt with her.” He paused for a while letting it sink in for them both. “I’ll leave you for now as I have some rounds to do.”

As he left, Jon looked towards the standing Benjen, tears forming at his eyes. Jon stood to meet him and they just hugged. Uncle Benjen had been through a lot and lost too much of his family. It seemed to come back to him, and in a moment of weakness he looked at Jon with too much sympathy and understanding.

“Jon, you need to go back to them. You know that don’t you.” He said it through the pain washing through him.

“I came here for a reason, to gain new brothers, to give my –” Jon wasn’t able to finish his thought.

“Fuck that. You came because she wouldn’t let you have anything there. Your family needs you Jon. I was once in a similar situation. I lost your Grandfather, Uncle and Aunt. I stayed with your Father because he needed me, and my only regret is that I didn't stay with him for longer. Your family needs you.”

Jon pulled back to look his Uncle in the eye. Seeing his idol weak, Jon nodded. “I know, I’ll go as soon as I can.”

He left Benjen to sit with his thoughts and out of desperation ran to his horse, ready to gallop south when Tyrion came upon him. “Only been here a few minutes and ready to leave? That was even quicker than I expected. Well I wouldn’t last long either with the celibacy.”

Jon felt sad and angry and he didn’t know why. He snapped back at Tyrion. “You don’t understand.”

The man took a step back and calmly sighed. “Then let me.”

Jon explained the whole ordeal – or as best he could. And as he packed his horse, Tyrion spoke up. “That might not be the smartest decision.”

“And why is that?”

“Well it’s obvious that your siblings will be in pain. They need someone to be constant for them, and not a constant source of broodiness like you are being now.”

Even at the edge of the world in the hardest of times, Tyrion could make him laugh.

“And what would you suggest I do?”

Tyrion stroked his chin. “Well I’ll leave with my guards tomorrow so I would say that it is smarter for you to join us so you won’t be alone and brood to yourself like normal. Also, do you really think it would be best to run out on your Uncle in a state like this?”

"No." Jon stated, staring down at his boots, disappointed in himself.

"Thought not. How about it then?" his friend asked kindly.

Jon stood, his hands still on his horse, pushing out a deep sigh from beneath. “Aye, that doesn’t sound like too much of a terrible idea come to think of it.”

Tyrion just chuckled. “You see Jon, there’s two things that you should know about me.” Jon turned his head, looking quizzically at his friend. It was weird to think that a child of a Stark and a Lannister could be such good friends. He pulled a pouch from his belt and pulled out the plug. “I drink and I know things.” He then proceeded to heavily drink what was ever inside the pouch. The widest grin emerged on both their faces - the rawness of the situation allowed for Jon to lose control of his emotions.

“And what do you think I should so whilst I’m here?”

“Well it seems that you have some pent up rage that should be spent rather soon. Only once have I seen you practice with a sword and that scares me already.”

Jon turned around and patter the ass of his horse to send it on its way back to the enclosure. He sent Tyrion a thankful look and a smile full of kindness. “My friend, there is no reason for you to ever be scared of me. I swear here and now that I will never hurt you.”

Tyrion broke out into a huge smile. “You’d really call me a friend, bastard” Tyrion jabbed, knowing full well that a friend of his would take his advice.

“After all we’ve been through, I’d find it odd if we weren’t, dwarf.” Tyrion went for a handshake, but they were alone and Jon could really do with a friend. He knelt down before Tyrion and hugged him, a sentiment which shocked the man. He just let it happen.

Jon then rose and looked around and picked up his sword which had laid on the ground after falling off the horse. “Well, let’s go find some people to fight.”

 

~~~~~#~~~~~

 

After his talk with Tyrion, they walked to the armourer to see if they had anything that would fit Jon. As Jon stepped into the armoury, he could tell that everything had been made by a master blacksmith. He picked up a breastplate and ran his hand down it, the chest had been curved just right to fit a large lad, and would fit well over the stomach. The helms surrounding Jon also looked masterful, not a single dent in any place. They were perfect. Jon never saw the need of a helm – his strength was his agility and vision and he could never cloud it.

And then Jon noticed the weapons that hung on the racks. He first picked up an arrow and put the tip to his thumb. Even the ones Mikken would make at Winterfell would do him no harm but these points were sharp and he could feel a prick. A little blood came through. He placed down the arrow and picked up a Warhammer – even though he could barely lift it. The weapon of the King – not an elegant one but a strong one all the same. But then he found the swords, and boy Jon was sold. He had always preferred a Bastard sword, something his brother would say was ironic. He looked at the length and picked the nearest one up. The blade was sharp and true with the metal firm but flexible when needed. It might have been the best weighted sword he had picked up – and then he noticed the blacksmith.

He wasn’t a tall man, and nor was he thin, but everything he had seemed to be muscle. His longish black hair meets his short black beard. And then Jon notices that he has an arm missing – his sleeve pinned up. Even with all this, he has an impish grin on his face.

“Jon Snow. In my armoury, I wouldn’t have thought it.”

“How do you know who I am?” Jon enquired – he had never met the man before. He didn’t even know his name.

“I do my best to keep an ear out for talented young men, and you are supposedly the best the North has to offer.” Jon would admit that he was good, but the best in the North, well maybe that was too much. He had practiced with his sword every minute he could, hoping to be renowned for it. But now he was, he wasn’t sure what to do with it.

“I try my best, and surely but slowly I learn. I doubt I’m the best, yet.”

The man smiled like Jon had passed some kind of test. He reached out his free right hand. “Donal Noye.”

As Jon grabbed his hand, remembering it from a book he once read that came from Storms End not too long ago. His jaw dropped when he remembered why he recognised the name. “You’re the blacksmith who forged King Roberts Warhammer.”

Donal bore a grin, moved his hand to the back of his head and sighed. “Aye, that was me, a long time ago. When I lost my arm, I decided to move here to help the Watch. Well, I guess you’re not here to listen to me rant, what can I do for you Jon?”

“I would ask for some leather armour and a bastard sword for practice. I haven’t had the best of days and fighting tend to clear my head.”

“I have just the right stuff, wait one moment” the man said proudly and excitedly.

The Blacksmith walked over and picked up a medium sized leather breastplate and the bastard sword he had held earlier. He gave it a twirl and found it to his liking so he nodded at the blacksmith and promptly walked out to the practice yard.

Tyrion managed to catch up with him before reaching it, causing Jon to stop in his tracks. “Jon, when you go out there, remember many of these boys never had the advantages you had. Teach them – earn their respect. I’d hate for a revenge attack to happen to you.”

Jon nodded, taking on his friends advice, knowing that it could make a real difference.

He continued on forward until her reached the courtyard. He found four of the recruits being forced to gang up on a larger recruit who had obviously not held a sword his entire life. Jon butts his way through the gathering crowd and uses all the authority that he can muster. “What is going on here?” he demanded.

He looked around to find a tall, grey solemn man scowling at him. “These boys need to train, Lord Snow, maybe you should try it sometime” the man snarled.

“Why do you think I have come to the courtyard in armour, to stare at the sky?” Jon realised that letting his anger out on an older man might not be smart.

The man just snarled some more. “Fine, Lord Snow, you want to protect your Lady Love, then fight four off at once.”

Jon just smiled at the man – Jon had been practising against multiple enemies recently and knew ways to even out the odds in his favour. He remembered overhearing their names from when he entered the Castle; Grenn, Pyp, Edd and Rast.

Jon acknowledged that Pyp was the quickest, Grenn the strongest, Rast the angriest and Edd the most balanced.

He strode over to the centre of the yard, with the other starting at staggering distances away.  _Its seems I might have a chance in this._

He took his sword and held it with one hand, gripping it loosely to his right. As anticipated Rast attacked first with a downward sweep which Jon parried left and hit Rast on his right, sending him tumbling to the ground. Pyp then came next with a lunge straight at Jon, which he spun past and pointed his sword at Pyps throat before taking out his legs beneath him, causing him to fall on his ass. Then Grenn came in with a grand sweep from Jon’s right, which he held firm. As he broke away, he feigned a lunge towards his opponent to straighten his blade, giving Jon more access to the handle. With this, he then tipped the sword out of the hand, it clinking on the floor along the floor. Defenceless, unaware and-off balance, he kicked the man in the chest, pushing him to the ground.

He then looked towards Edd, who had a more orthodox stand with his hands gripping the sword out in front of him, ready to defend. Jon shifted his feet and let his hands fall, moving his weight to his back feet. A smile emerged on Jon’s face, he had faced men out of that stance from the age of four. Whilst he normally fought on the defensive, tiring out his opponent, he decided to get rid of the rage he had been feeling. He started to stroll towards Edd. As he got closer, the heat inside him felt hotter. He raised his sword above his right shoulder, now gripping with both hands before slicing down left towards Edd’s sword. The swords clashed and Edd held, even if he did stumble backwards- a fact that Jon used to his advantage. He pressed on, striking left, then right as he pushed on, dragging his back foot on each step putting all his weight forward onto the attack. He feigned an attack left to draw Edd there. Grinning, Jon his the right side of his body knocking him to the ground. As Jon looked around, Rast and Pyp were just pulling up Grenn of the floor, so Jon went and picked up Edd. Jon put a hand out and raised him up.

Only then did he realise that they had gathered a rather large crowd – Jon being looked upon like a god. He had taken on four and won in a matter of a few seconds. But instead of basking in the glory, Tyrion’s words found him from the back of his mind.

“I know it might not seem it, but you lads have a lot of potential here. I can go through some points if you would like?” Jon questioned kindly, trying to sound humble.

The men looked between one another and all nodded in a respectful way.

“Rast, you use your anger too soon, a sword needs to be an extra part of you, not just a sharp object. When you go in, try and hold more of you back to allow for a defence. One wide swing will allow a man to get inside you and rip out your guts to see what stew you had the night before.”

The man nodded, actually taking in the words of a man who humbled him so easily. Maybe it was because Jon was the needed proof that not all those brought up in a castle are cunts. It didn't matter - he was actually learning.

“Pyp, you’re quick so going for a lunge was smart, but don’t make it an opening move. Use your size to your advantage. Let the opponent take a swing first and when they’re open, then go for it.”

“So you’re saying that I’d win against Rast then.” All but Rast chuckled, obviously the larger man taking it all very seriously.

“You’d have a chance, although I’m not sure with those twigs for arms.” And that got a laugh out of all of them. Jon tended to be quite quiet but since he met Ghost, his confidence and ability with a sword had been raised.

“Grenn, you have great strength but you rely on it too much. A big guy as yourself will be slower – take defensive stances” to which Jon showed him “and try to stay back – wait for their movements to slow before you strike.”

“Edd, your positioning is right and you have a proper grip on your sword, how?”

“I just watched how you dismantled the others and guessed. Never really been good at anything.”

Jon just patted the man on the shoulder. “Well I can tell you one thing, I’m sure you will be good at swordplay – just keep practising like today and you’ll get there.”

Jon then turned to the rest of the group to talk to them as a whole, and beckoned the larger recruit over, who had been standing worriedly behind Jon. The man walked over, stood firmly and held himself in a manner of which only a highborn would. Jon stretched out a hand towards the man. “Jon Snow.”

The young man slowly brought up a hand to meet his, not raising his face or eyes. “Samwell Tarly.”

Jon turned to the others, and with the commanding voice that he holds, he spoke. “If Sam is to be your brother, you treat him as such – you show him mercy and compassion. When the master-at-arms asks you to fight, you go easy.”

Whilst large, Jon could sense that the young man had a sharp mind. If he had got this far in life, he had to have some personal strength. Turning to Sam, he offered a bit of wisdom to them all. “Some peoples strength is strength, others their mind. Apart, they are weak. Together they are strong. Trust me – there will be a day when you would thank a weak but smart man for saving your life.”

The recruits weren’t the smartest people, but they knew about faith and compassion and brotherhood – and Jon knew to appeal to all three. They all nodded and turned to leave to practice what Jon had taught them. He managed to see Pyp knock out Grenn’s sword, which made Jon fill with pride.

“You… You didn’t have to do that for me. I’m not really worth it.” Sam managed to stutter out beside him after a few rounds of fighting.

“Sam, it’s the right thing to do. I don’t know you and you don’t know me – but even so, I still believe that you are a brilliant person” expressed reassuringly.

Sam stood back like he had never had a compliment before in his entire life. “How could you know that? I’m a fat man that can’t fight.”

Jon sighed and placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “I know what it feels like to be an outcast – but there is strength in that. Tell me, am I right to say that you read a lot.”

Sam gave a slight stretch of a smile. “You’d be right. It’s nice, you know, to read. It’s like an escape from the cold world we live in. Did you know that the Maester here is of Targaryen descent?”

While he tried to keep a straight face, Jon was sure that he looked befuddled. “I thought all the Targaryen’s were gone?”

Sam tried to not blush with the attention – like no-one had asked him a question about any of this before. “Well, you see, there are two across the Narrow Sea, Viserys and Daenerys, and one here, Aemon. Of course he is old now and he forswore any allegiance as he is not only a Maester but also a man of the Nights Watch.”

Jon nodded, amazed that someone could know all of this. He then felt confident in his plan for Sam. “I have an idea, follow me.”

Sam opened his mouth and raised a hand to try and argue, but Jon had already stormed out of the courtyard towards the Library where he hoped to find Maester Aemon.

 

~~~~~#~~~~~

 

As they reached the door, Jon was about to knock when they heard a feeble voice come through the door. “Come in, friend.”

The two of them shot glances between them before opening the creaky oak door to find an old blind man with silver hair sat before them. The man who he presumed to be Maester Aemon stood up and shuffled towards the door, with the longest chain Jon had ever seen around his neck. “I’ve been waiting a long time to meet you.”

Sam and Jon looked at each other, their expressions sharing the same confusion – an expression Jon wishes he showed less. Jon spoke up, knowing that Sam never would. “Are you talking to me?”

“Yes, Jon Snow, I am talking to you.”

Jon stepped back, being careful not to stumble over something behind him. “What do you mean you’ve waited a long time to talk to me? How do you know my name?”

The man just chuckled. “You Egg, you’ll understand one day. And about your name, I heard some of the men talking about you on their rounds – an impressive swordsman by the sounds of it.”

“People keep saying that, I don’t know how much-” Jon was quickly cut off.

“You are better than you think, stop being so humble. Anyway, what brings you to this place at this hour?” Jon hadn't even noticed that everyone had left the courtyard before them, and that it was dark outside.

Jon turns to look at Sam, both sharing a sweet smile to boost their confidence. “Sam Tarly here is a quiet and docile lad, I was wondering if you would be able to take him as your steward?”

Aemon looked unconvinced. “Tarly, step forward.” Jon quickly darted out of the way to allow Sam to step forward. “So, you want to be my steward then?”

“Y-Yes, I would.” Sam stuttered.

“Well I have a few questions for you then Tarly. Who am I?”

Sam was writhing his hands nervously, shaking, and looking like he was going to sweat even in the cold. Jon placed a supportive hand on his shoulder which let the shaking subside. “You are Maester Aemon, formally of the House Targaryen, older brother of Aegon V the Unlikely. You travelled to the wall with a bastard relative, your great-uncle Brynden Rivers.”

A creepy old smile emerged on the man’s face. “And do you know what he brought with him?”

Jon turned towards Sam, still writhing his hands. “If I recall correctly, he took Dark Sister with him.”

“Ahhh, Dark Sister. That was not the only sword he had in the end.” The old Maester seemed to drift away, to a place long forgotten.

At that point, Jon decided to speak up – he was well enough versed in Targaryen history to know about Bloodraven. “But why would he have two swords? He was a renowned archer, not swordsman.”

“That is very true, but he didn’t get the later sword till later in life. He sent a raven one night and a couple months later, a rider turned up unnoticed during the dark of night and handed him a package before leaving. It was something I never thought I’d see in my life.” The old man looked contemplative for a while, like a sad thought crossed through his head, but his spirits seemed to rise after looking at the young men in front of him. “Tarly, I will take you on as my steward after you swear your vow. Jon, I would like to talk to you before you leave with the little Lannister.”

Jon turned to Sam and bid him a farewell. “Well, it seems best to let you to get accustomed to your new job Sam, I’ll see you in the morning before I leave.”

As he turned to leave, he heard his plump friend call out to him. “Jon.” Jon hesitated and found himself with a grip with the man, which he embraced back. It honestly seems that Jon has hugged more men in the last couple weeks than he would like to admit. “Thank you for everything. Do us outcasts proud.”

Jon smiled at that remark, and even noticed Maester Aemon smiling as well, which made him proud for unknown reasons.

 


	2. Jon II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon has an unforgettable night and a memorable morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the support everyone. I managed to finish work earlier than expected so I was able to upload this earlier than I anticipated. Hope you guys enjoy.

By the time Jon had left the Library, the time of day had shifted to night, and Ghost had come up with him. He was still a pup and just as large as any normal wolf, and in recent nights he felt like he and Ghost were truly one. He ruffled the fur on top of his head and could hear the pant of his companion, which just lead to a smile to spread across his face. Jon looked up around him, mainly towards the Wall. The rumours surrounding it did it no justice. When people said that giants made it, Jon thought they were crazy – there was no way that even the largest and greatest giants could build it. Even the elevator to the top blew Jons mind, the mechanisation being mad. On a clear night Jon wished he could be on top of the Wall so he could peer over the edge and see the lands Beyond the Wall and the Lands of Always Winter where the magic was so strong that green lights would streak the night sky. And being so deep in thought he nearly didn’t notice Tyrion approaching him. Nearly.

“Tyrion, what brings you out at this time?” Jon asked, not even turning his body to the approaching man

Tyrion looked completely perplexed, which happily amused Jon. “In my many years on this world, I have never had anyone notice me like that. I’m impressed bastard.”

“Maybe you need to rely on something more than your height, dwarf. Your staggering is louder than a drunken bears'” he bantered back. The look they shot each other which made them chuckle.

“I was going to go up there and piss off the edge of the Wall, you want to join me?” Normally Jon would never had considered doing something as crude as that, but he decided for once to throw caution to the wind and do something different for a change.

“You know what, I’ll join you my friend” Jon replied to his grinning companion.

They sauntered over to the elevator and rode it silently to the top, taking in the view of the roaming hills that laid before them, looking down to see the people turn to the size of bugs and the diminishing view of the castle itself. Even in the distance at the edge of what they could see down the Kingsroad, they could see Moles Town – the only place this far North with a brothel. As it came into view, Jon shot a quick knowing look to Tyrion as he was staring down at the village, which could only be distinguished by the glowing light surrounding it.

They both strolled out of the lift after stumbling when the elevator came to an abrupt stop. They crossed across the trenches that were dug in the Wall and went to an opening that looked down to the other side.

They could see the vast stretch of the Haunted Forest that covered the area and the surrounding hills. It even seemed that the green light that had been rumoured to exist could be seen in the distance, something powerful and magic – but Jon decided not to think too hard as there was a weird sense of darkness with the light.

“Well, are we going to piss off the Wall or not.” Tyrion said, taking Jon away from his brooding thoughts.

As Jon pulled out his member, it seemed that Tyrion couldn’t help but look over. Jon gave a quick look at his friends, noticing it not to be as small as one would have imagined. But Tyrion looked away with an impish grin on his face.

“Well Snow, it seems to be that even up here, you manage to surprise me.”

Jon looked embarrassed, thinking that Jon was smaller than normal. “Well it is cold after all and it does want to hide somewhat.” Jon was telling the truth, it didn’t feel as firm in his hand as normal.

Tyrion just gave out a hearty laugh. “If that’s it at its smallest, then I’m sure that all the women in the Seven Kingdoms would be lining up at your door.”

It was easy for Jon to finish up and put it away, doing it quickly to hide the blush on his face. They decided to keep to themselves for the rest of the night.

 

~~~~~#~~~~~

 

Tyrion had quickly left the elevator, bidding Jon a good night. With the moon completely above him, the freezing air felt like it dropped towards him. He promptly wrapped his fur cape that had been made for him tightly around him, keeping whatever warmth he had close. As his boots clipped along the ground as he was heading towards the rooms, Ghost barrelled towards him full pelt. Jon went down to kneel so he could scratch his companion’s fur, but he kept moving his head towards the leadership halls.

Normally, the men would sleep multiple people to a room but the leaders like First Rangers, First Builders and Lord Stewards along with other top men had their own room.

Sensing something was off, he decided to look deep into Ghosts eyes. It always seemed that he had a connection to the Old Gods with the look of a Weirwood, and Jon often prayed holding Ghost if he was away from a Weirwood. The more he looked, the more his heart beat increased – and he could sense one emotion. _Fear._ With that Jon nodded and took off towards the block, but was stopped to a halt when he noticed something off – a set of tracks in the snow coming from the gate.

Unfortunately, Jon’s curiosity got the better of him, and decided to follow them to their beginning. They reached far down into the tunnel, and the more Jon saw of them, the faster Jon’s pace got. As he got toward the end of the old, timbered tunnel, he could see a low-burning torch. And in the light he could notice a familiar bloodied face – that of the master-of-arms Ser Alliser. His pace increased as Jon rushed towards him in an attempt to help him, as even though Jon thought the man was not a good one, it was wrong to not help someone in need.

As he approached, Jon took off his cloak, ready to wrap it around what was needed.

“Ser Alliser, what happened?” Jon quickly asked whilst kneeling next to him, with his eyes darting around his body, noticing pools of blood around him. Even a green boy like Jon knew there was no coming back from this.

The man slowly opened his mouth and feebly spoke. “Ser Waymar, a ranger lost months ago, came back with blue eyes. As I went to greet him, he began to slash and left me. I tried to stab him but it did nothing” The man began to cough, blood sputtering out of his mouth. Enough to make Jon want to lurch. "Shit" the knight promptly cursed under his breath. He reached up with his one good hand, Jon noticing that the other looked mangled, and grabbed him by the top of his tunic.

“You must find him Jon, stop him.” The man muttered. Jon began to notice the man’s grip relaxing as his soul left him. “Please.”

Jon immediately got up and went to turn and run back towards the compound with all the speed he could muster, with Ghost in front of him. They got back to the tracks and Ghost took the scent and hurried up to the main door, which seemed to be jarred open. As he went to open it, his loyal friend whimpered, which was only stopped when he withdrew his sword.

The floor creaked as he entered, noticing doors open down the corridor towards the Lord Commanders –noticing that his door was still moving signifying the movement of someone. Normally Jon would try and approach quietly, but with the description given by the old master-of-arms, Jon decided that was speed was best.

As Jon sped past the rooms, he could notice the men sprawled out, seemingly asleep. Jon would’ve thought they were if it weren’t for the pools of blood dripping from around their necks – he guessed that most of the leaders had been killed recently as when Jon went past the last room, it seemed as if steam was coming out of the wound of the man’s neck.

As Jon reached the Lord Commanders door, he kicked it out of the way, Ghost snarling behind him. He could see Jeor Mormont in the corner, with Ser Waymar showing Jon his back. About a thousand different ideas came to Jon, but Jon just knew he had to get Jeor out of the room and the easiest way to do that was by distracting the man and trying to kill him.

Jon first sliced at the man’s back, only to find an unearthly scream come out of his mouth. Startled, Jon faltered and back pedalled as the man slowly corked around to show a decaying face with bones protruding out of the skin. But what had petrified Jon the most was the eyes. A description of blue was not enough. They were bright and full of pain – he could even sense something dark looking through it.

Quickly, Jon regained enough composure to get into a defensive stance and called to Mormont. “Lord Commander. Run” he shouted. The man shook his head like he was coming out of a spell and flew across the room as fast as a crow. With Jeor behind Jon, the dead man looked towards him. Jon knew no weapon here would be able to stop this creature as when the light flickered bright – he could see recent cuts over his body.

Then the undead attacked like a savage. Jon managed to manoeuvre out of the way in time, but could feel the raw power that flowed out of the man. He quickly raised his sword and waited for another swipe.

The dead man turned and as he swiped – Jon took off his arm with one foul swoop of steel. In the moonlight than shone through the window, he could see the limb move with its own free will, at which point Ghost nabbed at it with his jaws, tearing the meat to shreds causing the movement to stop.

But by then, Jon had faltered due to the smell that had risen from the dead man – worse than any dung Jon had collected, worse than anything he could think of. He wanted to heave, but he didn’t knowing that his life and the Lord Commanders was on the line. Then, as if the world knew that Jon needed help, Mormonts raven flew in through the open window and perched itself on the desk and began to caw _“Burn, Burn, Burn.”_

Jon turned to look for a lamp, which was currently placed between the Jon and the dead man. Jon let the sword clatter to the floor and raced toward the lap, grabbing the lamp with his bare hands. He could feel the fire kiss his bare hands but felt no pain, but not risking it, he hurled it towards the walking dead.

The second it hit the man, he pushed the Lord Commander out of the room, wanting to leave the place that now seemed cursed. Jon could feel the demented screams of what was Ser Waymar pour through Castle Black – making Jon want to run all the way back to Winterfell and hide under his bed. With that, Jon peered back, watching the man squirm all over the floor, but his eyes were set upon by the raven, like he was being watched and tested. Jon quickly turned, wishing he was still a boy.

 

~~~~~#~~~~~

 

Knocking on the door woke Jon Snow from his slumber, for which he was grateful as his night had been dark and full of terrors.

“Snow, Lord Commander Mormont wishes for you to break fast with him this morning.” He could tell the distinguishable voice of Dolorous Edd with the lack of effort in his voice.

Jon slowly groaned out of bed, sitting on the edge of his bed trying to suppress what he saw the previous night – the bright blue eyes would haunt Jon for the rest of his life, he was sure. He had been so certain he was to die. But he had been saved by a raven, as equally magical he felt, on his side – and that gave him a weird confidence. _At least I have an ally in this war to come_ , he thought. He decided to not linger on it long as the thought of a Long Night was too depressing to concern him at that moment. He strode over to open his chest and put on his tunic over his small clothes along with anything else he might need. He went to grab his sword, but decided against it wanting to look formal and not too worried as he was only breaking fast.

Striding out of his room, he felt all the eyes in the courtyard fall upon him, devouring him – the first ‘Southern’ man to kill a wight, a thrall of the Night King, in thousands of years. Jon had gotten little sleep the previous night and had strolled into the library, taking a couple books that referenced the legends and myths surrounding the Long Night. The pages had been old and had nearly crumbled at his touch but proved useful for basic information – like how blades made of a dark, hard black rock could kill the White Walkers, or the Others. The name depended on the source.

With his mind a thousand leagues away, Tyrion had come upon him without Jon realising. He grabbed Jon’s arm, his eyes full of pain and worry. “Jon, I heard what happened last night – is it true what happened?”

Jon didn’t have the strength to think back to the night fully. He nodded subtly, keeping his eyes staring down toward the ground.

“Jon, I will always be here for you, never forget that. Be that strong man I have come to know. Who knows, maybe your strength can overcome that lackwit mind of yours.”

The men laughed, which turned hysterical. With the world turning to shit, Jon needed a friend who he could keep him going when he was at his lowest. After a little while to compose themselves, Jon held his hands on his hips to steady himself whilst breathing heavily.

“Thank you, Tyrion. For everything.”

Tyrion replied with the largest, most sincere smile Jon had ever seen out of the man. “Well people say that the Lannisters and Starks will never get along. Maybe as the black sheep of our respective families we can break the mould.”

Jon game a sly smile back. “I think we already have.”

The moment between them stood for maybe a bit too long, but a bastards and dwarfs tend not to have friends so they took in the fact they were.

Jon spoke up first. “So where would you be heading so early this morning?”

Tyrion stroked his chin as if there was a beard there. “I was heading to the Lord Commanders room to break fast. I assume that you are going there as well.”

“Aye, I am.”

“Well we should probably hurry along, best not to piss off a bear. I rather like my cock, don’t really want it mauled off.” They both laughed like young boys as they headed up the stairs towards Jeor’s solar.

They did not speak as they strode quickly towards the solar – wanting to get there as fast as possible. Jon reached the door first and knocked.

A gruff voice was heard through the door. “Enter.”

Thankfully Tyrion had caught up to Jon by that point and Jon opened for him.

“Ahhh, my favourite guests.” Jeor said was they walked in. He hadn’t even turned around to look at them, facing out of his window towards the courtyard. As he turned, Jon noticed the heavy bags under his bloodshot eyes – showing that even a man as tough as the Old Bear had struggled the previous night. “Please, take a seat, we are only waiting for one more.”

The seat scratched along the floor as Jon pulled it away, and firmly sat in the chair, all whilst wondering who this other guest would be. Jon hoped it would all be quick this morning, he wanted to speed home to his family. They needed him and he wouldn’t let them down – he was sure he would make them proud. And he wanted to be far from the Wall.

“Well, Mormont, it seems that my comments about grumpkins and snarks were too much – I guess you are right. There is something out there.” Tyrion said sympathetically and apologetically. Jon sat stunned, the fact that Tyrion didn’t start a conversation with a smart comment felt odd.

“Yes Tyrion, and now we have two sets of enemies Beyond the Wall. The Others and the Wildlings.”

Jon thought for a moment, coming up with a quick plan in his mind – reminding himself of a conversation he had overheard between his Uncle and Father. “Lord Commander, are there Wildlings that are friendly with the watch?”

Jeor looked at Jon suspiciously, his hands writhing and his eyes turning to slits. “Aye, there’s a few thousand who we trade often with. The Rangers and I trust them with our lives well enough. Why?”

 _Here it goes. All or nothing_. After what Jon had witnessed, he just wanted to save lives. “The Gift and New Gift have near to no men on them. Why not let the Wildlings through and settle them on that? Of course it would only be the ones you trust.”

A smirk encroached on Tyrions face, and Jon felt proud impressing the older man. Enough so that Tyrion decided to support Jon.

“Jeor, I think you should honestly consider this. If only one of them nearly took out all of the Nights Watch leadership, imagine what an army could do to the Wildlings. And then imagine what an army of hundreds of thousands could do to you.” Jon noticed how Tyrion tied everything back to the Nights Watch, knowing how to hit Jeor the most. When Tyrion was sober, Jon was sure that there was no man smarter.

The door creaked open and Jon could hear the feeble but wise voice of a familiar man. “The boy is wise. And right. As your Maester, I couldn’t give you better advice.”

Whilst Jon found Aemon strange and mysterious, there was a certain calming sensation that Jon felt around him.

The gruff man sighed and groaned. “The plan would work, I’d have to get the men on my side but with Thorne gone, it shouldn’t be as difficult.” The old man scratched his beard nodding, staring off a million miles away. “Anyway, we should eat before the meal gets cold.”

They all tucked in to their meals silently, ingesting the food whilst it was still hot – a rarity this far north. As they finished, Jeor turned towards Jon with a smile on his face. “Jon, I know you’re about to leave, but you have changed this place after only a day. You train the recruits and show them honour in a fight, and how to deal with weaknesses – something that has spread through the ranks. You are the first southerner we know to fight a wight, kill it and live. And you saved my life, you deserve a reward, Jon Snow.”

Jon had been a basic man all his life, taking what he was given and doing the right thing – he believed that it required no reward. “Lord Commander, there is no need. I-.”

He was stopped dead in his tracks when Jeor lifted up his hand, fist curled together, commanding silence. “You are getting a reward Snow, and trust me you will love this item like it is your own child. I was very tempted to give you my sword, but after discussing with Maester Aemon, we decided that it be best I keep it and bestow a different gift upon you.”

Jon shifted in his seat confused, sending a glance to Tyrion who smiled supportively. As Jon turned back to Jeor, he placed a long piece of cloth, hiding the gift on the table and slid it towards Jon. He slowly grabbed it, noticing a handle. He pushed his chair back as he stood up and reached inside the cloth to find a sheath. He quickly brought out the sheathed sword holding it in his left hand before pulling out the sword with his right.

Jon could feel the perfect balance in the bastard sword, like it had always been meant for him – it even had the pommel changed slightly, from a dragon to a wolf. _A dragon? Could this be?_ Jon inspected the sword some more and found the guard to represent the skull of a dragon on either side and a beautiful encrusted red gemstone placed in the middle, which seemed to dance like fire itself. The lightness of the blade was then confirmed when Jon looked to the metal the blade was made of. The steel showed waves and patterns that he had only seen once before – Ice. He stood back admiring the way it felt, but feeling wrong to hold such a beautiful sword. He opened his mouth toward the old Maester. “This is what I think it is, isn’t it? The package that Brynden received in the night.”

Maester Aemon looked sadly towards Jon. Even though he was blind, he could still show emotion through his eyes. “Yes, it is. And he said that one day I would bestow it upon someone who was worthy. He said I would know who it was when I met him. Many years have passed since then, and only now do I know what he meant.”

Jon nodded, but was still hesitant to take the sword. He sheathed and placed it on the table, preparing to slide it across the table. As he was sheathing it, he looked towards his friend who was still open mouthed in disbelief. When he managed to close his mouth, he looked towards the old man. “Are you saying that’s Blackfyre?”

“Yes. Brynden told me 'When darkness arrives, a hero will show himself, and that hero shall wield the sword.'”

Jon thought that there was more to what Brynden had told Aemon all those years ago, and Jon was too petrified to think what ends it. Anyway, Jon was ready to say that he could not take it, that he would never take it – he was only a bastard, not deserving of it. But as if the world knew his thoughts, Mormonts Raven flew down from above where Jon had not noticed it observing like it always does, landing on Jeors shoulder, staring deep into Jon’s soul. He knew that the raven had a power from the Old Gods – he just had that sense.

“Snow, Sword” the raven cawed. “Snow, Sword.”

But Jon knew in that moment he had to take the sword – it was a gift he could not refuse. “Thank you, both of you. I will do everything I can do to earn this sword.” He promptly bowed and left, taking the sword with him, knowing that any more interaction with those men will persuade him to stay.

He strode towards the stables to saddle his horse, saying his farewells to the men that he had helped. Jon made it quick, but remembering to look out for Samwell, who he could see was standing aimlessly by the stables, so he approached. “Sam, I said I’d say goodbye.” Jon opened his arms to embrace the young man, who he would call a friend.

“Stay safe Jon, the world would be a worse place without you.” They both pulled back. Jon resting his hand on Sam’s shoulder.

“Sam, I need you to stay safe as well. You can be the most useful and intelligent person in the kingdoms here. Scour the Library for anything that contains Wights, White Walkers, Others. Anything that could help us with the undead. When you need me for that war – I’ll be here.”

Sam nodded with a smile spread across his face. “I’ll find out everything I can. Anyway, I know you’ll be here when we need it the most. You’re the kind of person who always comes back.”

They nodded, knowing it was best to leave it at that. They shook hands and turned away. Deep down, Jon knew that he would see that man again. Jon felt a swell of pride in him. He originally travelled to Castle Black to swear his life away, but in time of great struggle and pain, he had been given an opportunity that he wouldn’t misuse.

With his mind a thousand miles away, he almost missed his Uncle striding into the stables with Tyrion. The man looked up from what seemed to be a serious conversation, with a new grin plastered on his face. “Were you going to forget to say goodbye to me? Your favourite uncle?” they both laughed, as if Jon had another Uncle.

“Of course not, saving the best for last” Jon expressed back.

They hugged as if they were not to see each other for a long time. When they pulled back, Benjen grabbed Jons cheek and held it firmly. “Look after our family, what does Ned ring into you?”

“When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.” It sounded solemn to everyone else, but to Jon and Benjen, they knew that he showed love can break through anything.

“Good, I’m riding North to treat with some of the friendly Free Folk – just got to hope that they remember I’m one of the nice ones.” They chuckled one final time before deciding it was time to leave.

They shook hands and Benjen jumped on his steed and turned to ride towards the tunnel beneath the Wall. Jon climbed up into his saddle and looked towards Tyrion. “Well, let’s go.”

Tyrion gave one final jape. “Finally, I would like to see other colours than black and white.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, now Jon's story is completely on a different route, and for the next few chapters there will be a lot of set up much like how Game of Thrones was originally as to set up later plotlines. There are some pieces of information that will be released in future chapters and Catelyns death isn't the only event that was changed, its just the other ones wont be touched upon till later.
> 
> This is only one way that it could go, and I'm sure many other people have different ideas on how it could go so to each their own
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed, and if you did Kudos is always welcome.  
> I post updates on chapters on my Tumblr here:  
> https://nightflyerposts.tumblr.com/


	3. Jon III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon rides home finding hope along his journey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so its been a while.
> 
> I want to apologise massively for the lack of updates, but I had my teammate be taken to hospital in a critical condition on Thursday, tried to help my partner who is going through a rough time in another part of the country on Friday and Saturday which included many hours on the phone and trying to deal with cancelled trains on strike and seeing family and friends. And then on Monday I found out that my teammate had passed away. Its been a hard time to focus on anything at the moment so I left the writing for a while, not finding the energy to do it.
> 
> Sorry for the wait, I hope you enjoy the chapter.

Riding had gone well, Jon and Tyrion had made good time. Well other than the couple of stops in the Gift where Jon had talked to the villagers they encountered. They had already heard much of what had happened against the recruits and the undead – and even in the North, word travels fast. This is especially true in the Gift where Rangers had been sent out to notify the villages of the Wildling plan, and other rumours had been spread. So at every village they stopped at, the villagers looked to Jon as if he were a god, and Jon had met enough men that would abuse that power. Whilst Jon didn’t like having such authority, he recognised the good he could do for people. Wildlings were hated wildly among those on the Gift due to the raids, but the raids had been getting less and less frequent, so he appealed to the goodness that laid there. With his passion, he managed to convince the smallfolk that letting the Free Folk through was the best choice, and he knew that once a few villages were converted to that idea that others would follow suit.

In the final village he visited, Jon noticed a man with a young boy stand out from the others. Most men wouldn’t talk to Jon when he was alone, believing he was too highborn – everyone knew the Stark traits and they felt honoured enough that he would even talk to them. But one man stood out and talked to Jon, which strangely pleased him, not liking being treated coldly. A balding man not too old strolled nervously towards Jon when everyone turned away. The man had a strong build, and all the people seemed to look towards him and part ways around him – obviously he was their leader of some kind. As Jon noticed, he swung round to meet the man to meet his eyes and showed warmth to the stranger to boost his confidence – which seemed to work.

“Is it true that Wildlings will be let through the Wall, my Lord?” the man asked detestably. Jon knew some of the villages had been hit worse with raids in the past, and some might be able to remember the horrors of it. Jon knew building a bridge between the groups was necessary, and if he could use his word for the best, he would.

“Aye, they will, but only because they have to – and only those who submit to the Kings laws will be allowed through.” Jon responded warmly. “And there’s no need to call me ‘my Lord’, I am a bastard after all.” He reached out his hand towards the man, hoping the man would listen and take it. "Call me Jon."

Jon stood waiting as the man scratched his chin before nodding and stretching his hand out to meet Jon’s. “Guymon. Normally highborn like to separate themselves, even the bastards from what I’ve heard.”

Jon released the man’s hand. “Well, we’re made of the same stuff at the end of the day, I don’t see why I should separate when people are stronger together.”

Guymon nodded with a grin splitting his face like he had heard what he had wanted, but his face quickly darkened. “Jon, you understand why the people around here are hesitant to accept the fact that Wildlings are let through.”

Sadness and grief spread across Jon’s face, his mouth growing small. “Trust me, if you saw what I saw, you wouldn’t want anyone to suffer that fate, and you wouldn't want more of them dying if you saw what happened to them - what they could do.”

Guymon looked petrified, Jon forgot how dark it could sound. After a moment, the man managed to gather enough breath to speak. “So the rumours are true.”

“Aye” Jon said simply, sighing staggeringly.

The man didn’t speak for a while, taking it in. “I have a young family Jon, I would do anything to protect them." He proceeded to breathe deeply, nodding. "If you swear that us folk will be protected, then I will spread word to embrace the Wildlings with kindness.”

Jon smiled, remembering what his father had once said when he had been a young boy.

_Jon and Robb had just finished one of their first sparring sessions, with their Father applauding, amazed at the strength of both of them. He had sent Robb to his Mother, leaving him and Jon alone, a rarity that Jon wished was more common._

_“Father, what did you think?”_

_Ned had just smiled in that moment, something Jon knew was rare. “I thought you were amazing, however there is something you need to work on.” His tone growing serious._

_“What is it?” Jon asked, basking in his Fathers words and wisdom._

_Ned just grinned at Jon. “Working on surprise attacks.”_

_And before Jon could ask why, Ned had picked him up in a tight grip hugging him at the waist, showing his pride in Jon, in which Jon returned, wrapping his arms around his Fathers neck._

_When Ned let Jon down, he spoke. “Gods Jon, you’re stronger than I thought.”_

_“Father, I want to be the strongest man in the Seven Kingdom. I want to be able to rip the mountains apart.” Jon used his arms as an action to fully show what he meant._

_But his Father had a more serious look in his grey eyes. “Jon, do you want to know what makes a man strong.”_

_Jon shook his head, ready to learn another lesson from his Father._

_“Terrible times can show what a man is made of, and it happens to a man at least once in his lifetime. Prove your strength by showing kindness and courage during times that turn other men towards hate and cowardice.”_

Jon had taken that lesson to heart, and to find a man following that creed made Jon hopeful that everything will be ok after all this. He just nodded and looked at the man with kindness. “Guymon, thank you. If you ever need anything, I will be at Winterfell and the Starks will always accommodate and look after you. You need only ask.”

It sounded a lot, but Jon knew Guymon wasn’t the kind of man to abuse his power. But then Jon could see a gleam in his eyes like he had just thought of a brilliant idea.

“Jon, this might sound a little odd, but that looks like a fancy sword, would you mind if I held it. It might be the only chance I get.”

Jon was a little taken aback but realised that the man had only honest intentions, so he looked at the wolf pommel and unsheathed Blackfyre and gave it to Guymon to hold, who was amazed by the weight and style of it.

“Valyrian steel?" Jon nodded, grinning at the gobsmacked face. "Amazing.”

The man held it out to give it back to Jon, with a smile on his face. As Jon gripped his sword, sheathing it, he tilted his head, raising an eyebrow to allow him to talk.

“Would you mind showing my son your sword? He’s always been interested in the great Houses and the swords, and showing him that would blow his mind.”

Jon nodded with a smirk spread across his face. "Call him over."

“Olly, I’ve got something to show you” Guymon called, which led to a boy bolting from his mother towards the two of them. The man knelt to allow a boy to jump into his arms and was raised up as Guymon lifted up off the ground.

Jon, still smirking. “Hello Olly, your Father told me you might be interested in this.” Jon unsheathed his sword for the second time, making the child’s eyes grow bigger than anyone could’ve expected.

“One day, you might be needed to hold a sword like this, promise me you’ll be strong enough to make your father proud" Jon said sternly. 

A quiet high pitched voice came out of the boy. “I promise.”

A call from the edge of the village stole away Jon’s attention. “Jon, it’s time to leave!” Tyrion called out, obviously getting impatient. Jon nodded and jumped onto his horse that had galloped towards him, with Ghost also approaching – giving a strong final impression of Jon to all the onlookers.

“Thank you, Guymon, let’s hope your word spreads well.”

“You need not thank me, Jon, the people will thank and love you soon. I’ll make sure of it.”

Jon nodded, not being the man who wanted to be thanked or loved, feeling like this was a bit too much. But if it spread the word, then Jon was ready to accept it. They didn’t run into any other villages worth stopping at, but even so, Jon started to get attention from the Smallfolk that he had never got before when travelling. He kept his head down during the rest of the journey, trying to keep the days quiet.

 

~~~~~#~~~~~

 

During the nights, Jon had been struggling to sleep, terrors coming from him in multiple directions. Be it him feeling unsafe in the crypts during his nightmares, Catelyn coming back from the dead or those blue eyes that shake him down to his core. He would practice stances and swings from Blackfyre, amazed how well it felt in his hands – it was like a natural extension to his arm. He could make every single move with how light it was – allowing his muscles to move the blade around faster Jon knew he had more to learn, but he had a new feeling – confidence. He had killed the undead – first southerner in thousands of years to do so. His body felt as if a fire inside had been stirred from a sleeping beast when wielding Blackfyre, giving him more power than he thought off. How could he not feel confident?

However, Jon was smart. He knew that if people thought he had Blackfyre then questions would arise about who he really was and how he came into possession of it. Being a bastard meant having “black blood” to some people, being naturally evil and untrustworthy. Also, anyone who might want to overthrow the King could throw legitimacy claims through this sword like the Blackfyres did all those years ago. He decided to use leather straps to hide the dragon heads and red gemstone. He had just been lucky that the villagers had not said anything.

He spoke with Tyrion when they were awake, talking about Jon’s childhood and Tyrion’s life and how many similarities they had. The love of a brother, but not of a sister. The black sheep of the family. They exchanged other stories such as the time Jon and Robb ‘ran away’ and when Jaime and Tyrion would hide around Casterly Rock finding all the nooks and crannies. He even jokingly mentioned how he once added a secret entrance when designing the sewer system to allow his ‘lady friends’ to visit him after Jon had told Tyrion how he had once been set up in a brothel.

 

~~~~~#~~~~~

 

As they grew closer to Winterfell and Jon could recognise the landscape, Jon could feel his heart racing faster and faster, spurring his horse on to reach his home faster. Tyrion and his guards kept pace with their horses on a quick gallop. They rode over the top of the grassy hill to find Winterfell and Winter town before them. Jon allowed himself to smile when seeing his home, knowing that with Catelyn sadly gone, it would feel warmer. In the corner of his eyes, he could see Tyrion grinning at his friends delight.

But as Jon came close to Winterfell, he noticed a sombre mood throughout Winter town – everyone was still mourning Catelyn, and his mind was brought back to when Jon was very little, before he knew he was a bastard. If Jon scraped a knee, got bruised or fell ill, Catelyn looked after him - silently keeping him company or tending to his needs. Only in later years had she become colder and harsher towards him. Only when Sansa got of age did he truly realise his position. He gripped to those nicer memories, however, to show he wasn’t completely heartless like a bastard should be.

As he rode through the gate into the courtyard, he saw men waiting for him. He could recognise the Luwin, the Maester who must have come down with Robb along with a few men for guards. They seemed to be having a discussion to themselves, but it being happy like a family reunion. He could spot the large body and white beard of the Master-at-Arms Ser Rodrik Cassel. But then he was surprised to see Jory Cassel and Harwin there as well as they had travelled down with his Father. He scanned his eyes over to see his siblings.

Robb was standing tall, being the Lord he was meant to be, but Jon was his brother and just by the little things, he knew something was off. His auburn Tully hair was unkempt, which was very much unlike him. His outfit looked worn and tired like Jons, not like the usual gear that gets the girls going. And then there’s the eyes, where before they were bright with light, now they look dim. But when he sees Jon, Jon notices that he wears the same sincere smile. _I’ll make sure you get back to your best, brother._

He then turns to his other brothers in quick succession, Rickon still being a child clinging to Robb. Jon knew then that Rickon had strength, most kids would’ve broken down but he was more grabbing onto Robb for Robb's sake in a way, Jon could tell his wild eyes were looking for his direwolf. And then there was Bran on Hodor's back, and it nearly killed Jon to see that. Bran had wanted to become the best knight out there, to become a Kingsguard. He sure had the right mindset and raw talent – Bran had beaten every kid his age multiple times. But to see him out and smiling after seeing Arya doing something silly.

 _Arya? What?_ She was supposed to be with Jons Father, riding south to Kings Landing. His cute, untameable little sister – someone he wasn’t sure if he was going to see again. When she spotted Jon jumping off his horse, she ran towards him, and he towards her with open arms. She jumped into him, hugging him so hard, he didn’t know if he was going to breathe again. He thought of all those dark times where her smile would help him through it, and the fact that one day he would see his little sister once again. He wanted to stay in that spot for hours, taking in the fact he was home with her. She was still small enough that he could hold her in his arms, so he carried her to their brothers, where he reluctantly put her down.

Robb was the first to speak “Did the celibacy pact turn you off then, Snow?” Anyone else would’ve been an ass, but Jon let Robb do it affectionately.

Jon sighed and let his lips curl up a little. “No, it seems that I can’t leave you Starks or else you let the world fall to shit.”

Robb smiled and nodded and they gave each other a look – they would talk more about it all later, in private. Some things kids shouldn’t know. At that point they hugged, just to know that the other was there, holding for longer than necessary but neither cared. They were brothers after all, and they looked after each other. And then the pup spoke up.

“Jon what about my hug?” The ragged boy looked up with sad eyes and open arms. Jon picked him up without a word being said and kept him close, wrapping him tight around him. Jon made a silent promise in that moment to keep his family safe, no matter the cost – be it his own life.

Whilst holding the youngest, he turned towards Bran, who was being given to Robb by Hodor. He let the youngest pup down and turned to Bran and Robb to pick his little brother.

“Thank god you’re awake.” Jon said hugging his brother tightly, like he never expected to see him again, and Jon could feel Bran's arms tightening around his neck.

“You promised to make me a better archer, I couldn’t die and not let you fulfill that promise.” Jon gave a soft chuckle to himself, not wanting to let go, doing everything in his power to not let the tears fall.

At that point, Jon had all but forgotten about Tyrion, and decided to turn to the man in front of his family. Composing himself, Jon spoke sternly “I know there is animosity between Starks and Lannisters, but allow me to show that not all of them are bad.” He smiled down towards Tyrion, patting him on the shoulder. “We have shared some odd experiences over the he has become a good friend.”

Robb nodded, Jon knew that he would trust Jons judgement – at least to a level.

“Well it seems that you should bring him along to the Great Hall, he might have some useful information. We have much to discuss.” Robb said coldly, like he was drawing on the winter winds itself.

Jon was unsure what needed to be discussed, but Jon wanted to enquire first to prevent any issues.

They all moved silently towards the Great Hall. Robb, as the de-facto Lord of Winterfell, sat in the Lords Chair. Bran and Rickon sat to his left. Arya sat to his right, but allowed for a free chair between herself and Robb. He stood before them, flanked by Tyrion at his side. Robb stared at him with hostility, but Jon intervened before any words were said. They both knew the stories of what the Lannisters did at Kings Landing, and both knew the thoughts of their Father.

“Robb, what happened?”

He pried his eyes away from Tyrion and into Jon’s. “An assassin was hired to kill Bran, he was stopped by Mother but she…” Robb caught himself as he had to show strength, but Jon could see tears form in the corner of his eyes. His hand formed a fist, and sound came out of the squeezed leather. “She died from the cut from this.”

He pulled out a Valyrian Steel knife from his belt and laid it before them on the table. It was dangerously beautiful, and he knew that it shouldn’t belong to any normal assassin – there was a reason grander than they knew about behind this attack. He saw Tyrion stand back next to him, his face paler than the snow that lays on the grass. “What is it Tyrion?” Jon inquired quietly.

Tyrion sighed. “It used to belong to me before I lost it in a gamble to…” His eyes widened, even Jon could see the clogs in his mind turn angrily. “Littlefinger.”

The Starks all looked confused, looking at each other for understanding.

Rickon spoke up first “If he is a Littlefinger, can’t Shaggydog eat him in one go.”

Robb turned towards him “Rick, it doesn’t work like that alright?” Rickon just nodded in acceptance. Robb then looked towards the small man before him, a growl in his voice. “Who is this ‘Littlefinger’? Why would he try to kill Bran?”

"Littlefinger is the Master of Coin, Lord Peter Baelish. He is a man who craves power and would do anything to get it - an agent of chaos who has swindled this country to curry favour with influential Lords. Why - I do not know. I do know however that he had a hatred for the Starks after nearly dying at the hand at your Uncle Brandon in a duel over your Mother. I also know that there could be drastic consequences if he used this event to his advantage. I implore you to send a message to your Father before Littlefinger manipulates him like he does everyone else." Tyrion sounded full of authority and anger, different to the man Jon had known on his journeys. With all of that, he realised what a terrible enemy Tyrion would be, and how great an ally.

Robb nodded in agreement, which shocked Jon. “My Father will be sent a raven to his personal camp before it reaches Kings Landing.”

Both Tyrion and Jon smiled lightly, knowing that Robb had made the smartest move. Even in his weakest moments, Robb had a sharp mind – maybe not in pure knowledge but in what was useful in life. He had been raised to become the Lord of Winterfell after all. Tyrion had told Jon about all the “little birds” that would love to read a note like that – and how much damage it could cause to the already weak Stark family – their nearest relative after each other was a long-lost cousin in the Vale.

Tyrion exhaled before he stepped forward toward Bran and placed some parchment before him, a kindness flickering in his eyes. “As a fellow cripple, I understand there are certain changes that must be made to your life. On my journeys, I came up with these designs and discussed with your brother to make sure it would be the right size.”

Bran picked it up and had a wide grin on his face. “A chair with wheels?!? A saddle?!? Thank you my Lord.” Even Robb looked impressed and happy, something Jon hadn’t expected to see for a while. _It is a start brother, you will be ok._ Even Arya and Rickon looked impressed with what had been made for their brother.

Tyrion bowed slightly “After spending time with Jon, I feel like this family does not need to address me in such a way. Just call me Tyrion.”

Robb stood to honour the man – something completely unexpected.

“And you can call me Robb, Tyrion” he said as he extended a hand over the table toward Tyrion, in which he grasped strongly. Robbs look wasn’t that of warmth or of friendship but of understanding for allies – but it gave Jon hope all the same. Maybe the Lion and the Wolf can play together, Jon thought.

 

~~~~~#~~~~~

 

Jon and Robb let the younger ones show Tyrion round every nook and cranny of the castle giving them time to talk to themselves. Jon grabbed a chair from a separate row and brought it round so he was facing his brother, both of the brothers sharing the brooding face that their father had. Robb looked up first to catch his brother’s eyes.

“Thanks for coming back, I know you’ve had your heart set on the Watch. We really need you here" Robb expressed, fiddling with his hands.

Jon felt a warmness in his heart – he had tried to hate his brother when they were younger, but the older they got, the closer they grew and Jon knew Robb had some of his own demons.

“You’re my family, and I would do anything for you – you know that. Anyway, the Watch isn’t going anywhere anytime soon. Also, I noticed a fine lady on my way up and that might have shifted my mind.” Jon smiled at his brother, hoping to brighten the mood, but unfortunately, it did not work.

“You see Robb, I’m the one who is meant to brood and you’re supposed to be the funny charismatic one.” Robbs mouth finally curled up and he began to chuckle – Jon knowing that everything would be fine. Robb slowed back to his brood, but finally opened his mouth to talk.

“It’s been hard Jon. I had to carry Rickon everywhere for the first couple days and he would sleep in my bed with me – I think he’s getting over it but it still stings. Bran woke up and knew she was gone, he had already settled that in his deep sleep. But with that, he has just seemed distant at times.” That had freaked out Jon, but that would at least give a reason why Bran had been strange. Old Nan had told of greenseers in the bloodline of the First Men – the bloodline of the Starks. It could be possible.

Rob continued on. “And then Arya came home. You know her and Mother were never close but it hit her hard having to travel on the Kingsroad, Father didn’t even tell her! She locked herself in her room till we told her that you were coming back today, only letting either me or Rickon in and that was just so she could hug someone to feel better.”

Jon nodded, he and Arya had been the closest siblings, daresay closer than he and Robb, so it made sense that she would close herself off like that. He would talk to her about it later, but his brother was in front of him and he needed his help right now.

“Robb, I know the kids would be traumatised, and together we can help them and build them to be stronger – but right now I’m more worried about you. You were her son, a Mothers boy. You’ve had to look after the others and have had no time for yourself.” Jon gripped his brother's arm from across the table, giving Robb the support he needed.

Robb nodded, not making noise. He put his head in his hands, tearing away from Jons grip, but that didn’t truly hide the tears from Jon – he could still see them flowing. Jon quickly shot up out of his chair, making his way to Robbs side of the table. He placed his hand on Robbs back, patting it, showing someone was there. And after a few moments, Robb sighed, causing Jon to move away, and kicked the chair back and standing to meet Jon eye-to-eye, and just nodded. From just that, Jon knew Robb would need a different out.

“Well Robb, how about we use that emotion for practice.” They both grinned slightly at the other, knowing how competitive they were.

Robb nodded. “Sounds good, just not against you, don’t want to embarrass you again, Snow.” He nudged Jon with one arm as he wiped away the tears with the other, and they began to walk to the courtyard.

“Oh, you’re dead meat Stark.” Jon said as they left the hall, now having their direwolves join them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed it - I want to explore than commoner-highborn dynamic throughout as I believe that there can be some interesting outcomes from it and soon this will be where the plots diverge from that of the show.
> 
> Again, I apologise for the lateness of the chapter, but as the next one is a short but special one, I hope to have it up soon.


	4. Tyrion I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion decides that action needs to be taken when he finds out something interesting about the knowledge of Jons skill in Winterfell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. It's been a while.
> 
> A lot happened in a short space, which threw me off. And then I had so many deadlines all I could deal with was the work. And then to top it off, I had a case of writer's block further along in the story. That with seeing all of my friends family I hadn't seen in months didn't allow for a lot of writing time.
> 
> But here it is, a double chapter coming your way this evening with some interesting development, along with introductions of new characters.

Tyrion actually really liked the Stark kids – not once did they mention his height. Well, they were actually a similar height as him so it probably didn’t mean much, though looking up to see Bran being carried by Hodor made him want a large man who could take him around and act as a personal guard. _And then I wouldn’t have anyone disturb me when I went to the brothel._ They had been going around the castle for hours, which would have normally bored the man to death – especially whilst he was sober, but the excitement of kids helped the time pass. He also knew it was probably a good way to distract them from the negativity, something that Tyrion knew all too well. He followed the kids as they ran behind the corner.

“Come on Tyrion, you don’t want to miss it!” the voice of Rickon squealed. Amused, Tyrion upped his pace to find himself on a balcony facing the training yard where the fence had been removed so even the smallest people could look down on the fighting. It didn’t seem like there was anything special happening.

Then he noticed the four men down there, two older men drilling two younger men. One was easily identified as the master-at-arms Ser Rodrik Cassel who was drilling the young man clad in a dark brown. The forms seemed difficult, something only a skilled swordsman could be taught. And then there was the other duo – who put the other two to shame. The older one of the second pair, whose long hair and specifically-created stance, seemed to be Jory Cassel – the man who had been renown throughout the North as one of the best fighters they had after the breakthrough at Pyke. And seeing his skill with his blade, Tyrion was sure he was, but the younger man clad in black stood out like a ruby. His stance felt tailored to him, he knew exactly how his sword worked, like it was an extension of himself.

Robb Stark and Jon Snow. The Northern brothers showing off their skills, and since the drills at Castle Black, word had been spreading south about Jon’s skill with a blade and how he had mastered it at such a young age. Tyrion had wondered why word had not got out before, but now he realised – no-one had been let in to see. No-one knew how good he was, at which point the playfulness in Tyrion came out. He quietly sneaked away while the younger ones were enchanted with the training, going for the exit.

He remembered his way to the kitchen to find the cooking staff working and some of the guards off duty. _Sorry Jon, time the North knows about you._ Tyrion walked forward and loudly cleared his throat, leading to everyone to look towards him. “After discussing with Robb Stark, he would like to invite you to watch him and Jon Snow train, but only if you keep quiet.”

He didn’t know what the reaction would be, but it seemed even they had heard the rumours of Jon and all got up and headed towards the training yard. Tyrion had managed to squeeze past to the balcony along with the kids to see Jon standing opposite Jory in an offensive stance. The crowd of people looked amazed – they had all seen Jory best anyone who attempted to fight him, but his eyes showed the wariness that he had towards Jon.

Jon gave a quick smirk, oblivious to the crowd that had formed around them, before approaching raising his sword from a hanging position at his side. He swiftly raised it high and swung it down towards Jory, causing him to fall backward. Only now had Tyrion noticed Jon’s muscles through the leather, normally being hidden through the cloak he seemed to always brood in, now showing off the strength that Jon possessed.

Jory had quickly jabbed back, hoping to catch Jon off guard, even if Jory was off-footed, but Jon just seemed to absorb the slice with his blade, deflecting it to his side. Jon then forced Jory across the training yard dragging his feet, giving high hits in quick succession, forcing Jory to be off balance and keeping Jory’s sword high. Jon then feinted high before quickly lowering his blade, taking out Jory’s legs and then holding a sword to his throat.

Even from Tyrion’s position, he could hear the groans of annoyance from Jory over the mass of sighs from the crowd, which had only gotten bigger.

Jon picked up his sparring partner, apparently still unaware of the people watching him. “Did you really have to show me up that bad in front of everyone.” Jory nodded towards the full balcony and women who have a dark and lustrous look in their eyes – which caused Jon to blush enough that it could be seen from miles away. Tyrion just had to laugh, even if it was at the expense of one of his closest friends.

Jon had seemed to grow in confidence since Tyrion had met him, and Tyrion hoped he would show it now as a couple of the guard watching were in full gear, ready to fight for their own training drills. It was also something Jory had taken care to note.

“Jon, you want a challenge huh?”

Jon just nodded, looking ready to show off. “As long as I can use my sword, it feels better. This one is the worst I’ve fought with for years”

Tyrion was now scared at what Jon could do with Blackfyre in his hands, he was glad Jon was a friend as he could tell he would be a terrifying enemy to fight against.

“Aye, I’ll let you use your magical sword, but four-on-one seems like an apt challenge for you with that weapon,” Jory said. Tyrion had seen Jon beat four recruits, but four men with years of training? That was different, he couldn’t see Jon coming out of that one well.

“Only if I’m allowed a dagger. Just in case.” Jon replied. _What is the boy thinking? A dagger is of no use against a sword._ But the way Jory smirked knew it was a smart answer.

“Hallis, Alyn, I can see your dumb asses up there, get them down here.” Even far away, Tyrion heard them groan and complain, obviously not wanting the shit to get hit out of them. As they worked down, Jon started in the centre surrounded by Jory, Alyn, Hallis and Robb in the corners against him. With Robb against him, Tyrion thought that this would humble Jon a bit – not that he needed it. He was the best fighter Tyrion had seen since his brother Jaime all those years ago and didn’t have any of Jaimes arrogance.

Ser Rodrik stood up high and proclaimed “Now!”

Jon ran immediately toward Alyn, hammering his sword with all his strength towards the base near the handle, enough so that the sword fell out of his hand and clattered to the ground. Jon kicked his chest and placed his sword tip on his throat before quickly raising his sword towards his next opponents.

Hallis and Jory were upon him and Robb fast approaching so Jon allowed for his right hand to hold the sword alone and brought his knife out from his back with his left. Jory attacked his left with a jab, and Jon basically ignored it, deflecting it away with the dagger as Jon attacked Hallis to his right with swift cuts first left, being deflected up, then to the right, being deflected back – and it seemed Jon had just what he wanted. He used the flat of Blackfyre to knock the hilt of Hallis’ sword, loosening the grip, causing a lapse in judgement, opening up his side. As Jory went to slice Jon’s left, Jon span around to hit Hallis in the back, causing him to fall to the floor.

Jory, who was off footed on his side from the previous bout, was susceptible to a jab from Jon which caused him to stumble back where he sliced towards Jon in hopes of an offensive attack being a good defence. But Jon knew his slice was coming, so he parried it away with the short blade and brought Blackfyre to Jory’s neck.

He then slid the knife behind him, as Robb finally joined the fray after being forced away by the stumbles off his fighting companions. Jon used Blackfyre to blindly block a swing by Robb at his back. He swiftly turned to face his opponent and Robb used his strengths against Jon.

Where Jon was swift and strong, Robb was bigger and stockier meaning he could bring heavy swings with a much greater force.

Robb first swung towards Jon with a great large arc, causing Jon to jump back, parrying the blade further away but Robb had expected Jon to get close by the looks of it. As Jon attempted to get close, Robb hit him with a closed fist, knocking him backwards, following up with a great downward swing. Jon managed to roll away but even Tyrion could see something awaken in Jon that just burned the air around them. He leapt from his crouched position and hammered forward toward Robb, who was struggling after Jon matched Robbs swings like they were nothing.

With Robb on the back foot, Jon had a great advantage, making cuts and swings left and right, dragging his back foot forward to keep all his body strength on his opponent. Soon, the speed had overcome Robbs strength and Jon knocked Robbs sword out of his hand as he was off balance and wobbling around. Instead of ending the fight with a sword to his throat, Jon repaid the hit given to him by his brother.

As Tyrion turned around to see the crowd, he could see probably over a hundred people looking down on Jon, all with mouths wide open, either too amazed with what they had seen or beginning to spread rumours that he was Ser Arthur Dayne reborn. There had always been the story how Jon’s mother had been Ashara Dayne, and with his birth at the similar time of Arthurs death, it would make sense.

Jon had proceeded to pick up Robb, and sent him a dirty look, showing his annoyance.

“I needed to see the savage inside you come out Jon, it’s the fighter that is unbeatable.”

Jon just growled at his brother, which could be heard around the training yard, before putting Robb in a headlock and rubbing his fist on his head whilst laughing.

Now Robb was the one to growl. “Do you seriously have to embarrass me more?”

Jon just looked sweetly towards his brother. “You’re my brother, I have to.”

His brother chuckled, patting Jon on the back before turning towards the small crowd before them. “Alright you lot, back to work, you can swoon over us later.”

As they strode out of the yard and everyone went back to their positions to do their work, Tyrion was left sitting there, realising how fucked an enemy of the Starks would be. Even in that fight, Robb lasted longer than anyone else because he had a smart strategy. He did not have the skill to deal with the generational talent, so had studied his opponent for tendencies in the fight. It was something that a large majority would look over, but not Tyrion – that boy was going to be the best strategist in the Seven Kingdoms, Tyrion just had that sense. Maybe even better than his Father.

And then there was Jon. He was scary. Not because he tried to be, but because he seemed like he had been blessed by the gods, an undefeatable aura about him. He was a true wolf. And as quiet as one hunting its prey.

 

~~~~~#~~~~~

 

Tyrion spent the rest of his day talking to the smallfolk that had worked under the Starks and asked about the eldest brothers. Normally, young lordlings were a pain in the ass for the workers and guards, but strangely enough, they all had brilliant things to say of them. Of course, they used to raid the kitchens and act mischievous, but not at a single point did they treat anyone lower than themselves. They did cause the guard to run in circles, however, which made Tyrion laugh, especially after hearing a story about when the brothers had built a mountain of snow above a gate and pushed it onto a passing guard. The boys had picked a good target in Tomard, nicknamed Fat Tom for a reason. Even the guard chuckled, not thinking less of them as they did apologise the next day, and not because they had to – Fat Tom hadn’t even told Ned or Catelyn.

Many of the stories from other guards and smallfolk had been the same – they played like younger men would but were always kind and thoughtful, and these people were exceptionally loyal to them both. _And deservingly so,_ Tyrion thought – he had not seen two people as brave and courageous as those two.

As Tyrion stood on a balcony overlooking the courtyard, he could see Jon talking to the new master of horse Harwin and Captain of the Guards Jory, informing him on something Tyrion couldn’t hear, but he could hear the japes between them and the chuckles over the courtyard. Robb was talking seriously to the Maester Luwin and the master-at-arms Ser Rodrik, probably about the information being sent to his father, as Tyrion could see the Maester holding a scroll that was meant for a raven.

Then Jon and Robb both decided that it was time to leave together and looked to walk to the Great Hall. _Shit, I almost forgot about the meal_. Tyrion swiftly walked towards the stairway at the end of the balcony and could see the direwolves approaching their masters, walking at their respective master’s sides, with many people bowing as the Brothers passed them.

Ghost had been the runt of the litter but seemed to be the biggest and strongest now. However, there was something royal about Grey Wind that can’t be explained. Wherever Grey Wind would go, Ghost would be there to protect him. Tyrion thought of the Stark ideals of the Pack and the wolves showed that. And there was something about the change of feeling when the wolves were around their masters, like the aura of kindness was changed to an aura of power.

Tyrion for once stayed silent for the meal as he wanted to experience a meal full of compassion rather than the cold ones he was used to. He found them talking about their day, like how Bran had seen through the eyes of his wolf again and his dreams – which both Jon and Robb encouraged as they took it as signs from the Old Gods that there was something about Bran that was special, even when Maester Luwin had knocked those silly ideas down. Rickon would talk about what Maester Luwin had taught him, and how he wanted to grow up to be Cregan Stark. It was a funny choice to everyone, but he was strangely one of the best men in the history since the Landing that is always overlooked. It stated a lot about that boy. Arya was pestering Jon for sword practice lessons, which Jon had refused. Tyrion, however, knew his friend and that glint in his eyes showed that mischievous idea that rarely came out – like on the return journey where they snuck away from the guards and went night hunting with Ghost when the full moon was out.

Tyrion, of course, added in his wit whenever it was needed, making them laugh, but he mostly kept to himself, knowing how fragile their family situation was. He bid his friends a good night and decided to explore the ramparts, looking over the Wintertown.

It all looked beautiful – smoke coming out of the chimneys of the tall cramped buildings that clung to the outer walls of Winterfell. After spending some time there, he noticed a very nice establishment that he had been to on the journey with the king. _I wonder how long it would take to get to the brothel, spending time with the Nights Watch reminded me how good fucking really is._ He tried to take out the dirty thoughts in his mind and enjoy the evening.

His horniness won out in the end though and he proceeded to walk down the steps towards the gate to cross the moat and into the town before him. The guards opened the door for him, all giving him a look knowing where Tyrion was heading. He practically skipped past the dark alleys towards the whores when he heard a noise coming from the hilled street in front of him, causing him to be more wary of the area.

But as he walked down, he noticed some hooded figures dressed in Lannister garb before him, and as they stepped from the shadows, the moonlight revealed some splattered blood that covered the plates.

A quick glance behind the approaching men revealed some limp bodies, and he could recognise some the features on some of the men. A moustachioed fellow with a great bushy beard. A smaller man with weasely features. His guards. As Tyrion turned to run and call for help, the world went dark as his body hit the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed, sorry for the wait, there will be another update by the end of Sunday. This is a shorter one, but get ready for an interesting start next time.


	5. Jon IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon makes a decision about what kind of man he wants to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I was gonna update this last night at like 2AM GMT but kinda fell asleep. So I looked over the chapter again this morning and decided to make some amends.
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy, this is a little shorter than normal which is why I wanted to package it with the Tyrion chapter. And hopefully, I will have the next chapter out soon, which will come out after I finish working on another chapter - meaning it could be today, tomorrow or in a few days. It all depends.

They had started training as soon as everyone had departed from their rooms. He had picked up a couple wooden sparring swords from the practice yard and had taken her to one of the halls where Jon had ordered the guards to clear the room. As he looked around to make sure there was enough space to spar, he found Arya gleaming at him, but Jons nature looked past that, and he knelt before her.

“Sword fighting is a disciplined art, not something to be for granted” Jon calmly expressed. “Spears, maces and axes are all weapons that anyone can use in a fight. A sword is different. Someone not trained well enough can be run down quickly. But a master with **their** sword in their hands can beat any weapon at any point.”

Arya just nodded. Jon knew she wouldn’t truly understand right now, but she would with time.

“Well, I guess it’s time we start.” The grin on her face reappeared once again, watching Jon with an intensity he had never felt before.

He started by running through certain forms and stances, making sure she was comfortable and stable with what she was doing. It wasn’t made easy for Jon however. Arya had been adamant that she fights with her stronger left hand, and with Jon being right-handed, he had to make sure that she was mirroring his movements rather than copying them, which could make training rather difficult. Jon, however, had noticed her determination. She would accept when she made a mistake and would keep trying to correct it. She had a lot to learn. _Maybe too much for me alone, I can barely remember how to teach the basics._ But Jon knew every time he looked at her that he would always fight for her and train her. Eventually, as the evening turned to night, they both became tired and Jon decided it was time to get some sleep.

He walked over to her in one of her stances and picked Arya up and threw him over his shoulder, her feet dangling in the air, his back being hit by a wooden sword.

“Put me down!” the mousy girl exclaimed, still struggling against her brothers might.

“No” Jon chuckled, “I need some sleep as I have morning duty tomorrow and you need all the rest you can get.”

Behind him, he could hear a loud huff and a clatter of wood on stone. Jons back jutted forward as she crossed her arms and slammed them down on him, which only made him laugh more.

She was his little sister after all, and he would do anything for her. Her smile would melt the heart he had long thought frozen enough long enough for him to return a smile. Maybe only one other could do that. Her laugh along with their siblings had gotten him through his lowest points. He knew that there was more out there for him, calling out to him – but right now, she was the one of the few that got him through the darkness.

Kicking open the door, he placed her down on the floor to light the candles. She just stood looking at him with a deadly glare as he walked around the room lighting each individual wick. Just as he was lighting the final light, he opened his gob.

“If you’re going to kill me, do it now as I honestly don’t want to deal with the morning duty tomorrow” Jon snarked, slightly turning his head towards her.

Her silence was rather annoying, so Jon fully turned towards the tiny body in front of him and just stood in her face with a stupid smirk on his face.

“Well, go on then.” Jon jokingly surrendered, raising his hands, allowing for the impending attack.

She surprisingly leapt up and wrapped her arms around his neck tightly, which Jon responded by embracing her with the same affection. She had become too good at hiding what she was planning to do.

A quiet voice rang through Jon's ear. “Thank you. For everything.” Her grip got tighter.

“Anything for you.” His grip got tighter. “But sleep is required.”

Jon could feel a head nod on his shoulder. As he laid her down and went to leave her room, he could hear a whimper. “Jon?”

Worried, he came to her side and knelt before her. “What is it, sis?”

“Can you stay with me tonight, I’ve had nightmares about Mother and Bran and…?”

As Arya faltered, Jon just hugged her and climbed into the bed. She wrapped her arms around him like she was never going to let go. And he did the same. He knew that he would look protect her for as long as possible. “It’s going to be ok, I’m here now.”

He felt her head relax into his chest and eventually, he could hear her snore. He promptly followed.

 

~~~~~#~~~~~

 

Arrows flew across the courtyard as Bran and Rickon practiced their archery with master-at-arms Ser Rodrik Cassel. They were both progressing well - Rickon had started actually hitting the target, well with his small arms it was a challenge, and Bran was starting to be consistent on his accuracy, hitting the centre target every time. It didn't help his confidence when Arya would suddenly appear from nowhere and split his arrow in two though - but the competition will probably make him better. And Jon knew how powerful a strong bond between siblings can be. Maybe Robb and Jon could've been better brothers however and not laugh every time Bran got frustrated, but his little face used to squirm up in a way that would make it impossible not to laugh. Jon couldn’t help but think back to when it was Jon and Robb firing the arrows at each other

That day was one of the rare days Jon had to himself, however. Normally, he would wake up with his family to eat together, look after the young ones before lessons with Maester Luwin, something that Jon strangely missed, before training with Jory. And by 'training with Jory', it was meant that Jon would take on multiple guards at once under the supervision and tutelage of Jory, as whilst Jon had beat Jory in a fight, he had more combat experience and knew what to expect from an actual battle. The bruises it left reminded him that he needed to be quicker and more agile.

He would then help Robb with his Lordly duties – be it talking to petitioners or to looking at the state of the keep to make sure repairs were being done if any damage was found and organising the guards' patrol times, something which Jon actually enjoyed. Making patrols inconsistent and without a pattern was something he favoured even as a child, and whilst it was a challenge when he said he would be joining men on certain patrols the guards agreed.

But for the most part, it was boring. Robb had it all under control – Jon was sure that he would grow to be the greatest Lord that had ever lived. He knew all the names of the Lords, talked like a Lord should and had the confidence to go with it. He could rattle off all the guards and a fair few of the smallfolk that worked within the castle. It might be the only place Jon had an advantage as Jon knew everyone’s name and something about them.

But sometimes the friendliness that Jon had with the smallfolk caused issues for Jon. It had often been wondered who his mother had been as he looked so much like his father that it was difficult to think of who it could be. Some even said that it was likely that he was born from a Weirwood tree given how much of the North lies within Jon. Jon had tried to ignore the more serious rumours, but as he passed through the kitchen, he could hear a couple of the maids, Mya and Alayne, discussing the topic. Normally he would pass by, but his interested was piqued that day. He crouched behind a countertop and held out his arm to stop Ghost behind him as the growing wolf refused to leave his side. It had seemed that Jon had arrived at the right point.

“But have you seen Jon Snow practice. I thought Robb Stark was good, but Jon.” Alayne, the younger one said with a liveliness in her voice, and even Jon could hear the girl fanning herself with her hand. She had always been nice to Jon and Jon found her rather pretty, and when Jon had to go to dances and feasts for his father’s sake, he usually ended up in her company. It even took a while for Jon to remove her from his mind, from her wavy chestnut hair with the cute freckles dotted over her cheeks and those deep green eyes. She had even started to fill out, he hips widening and becoming slightly more buxom.

The older lady Mya, a woman later in her years with her grey hair tumbling down her frame, just laughed and shook her head at the gossip.

“I always thought Jon was a comely boy, but as a man, there was something else about it stirring. I can’t quite describe it.”

Jon’s face turned blood red and could feel his heart beating out of his chest like there was no containing it. He managed to get his heart rate low enough to relax the blood flowing through his ears so that he could hear once again as the older woman spoke up once again.

“You know why that is, don’t ya?”

Alayne just shook her head, unsure of the old woman.

“There is a reason why he is called ‘Ser Arthur Dayne Reborn’. It would only make sense that he would take after the Dayne line.”

Jon peered round enough to see the girl tilt her head, but he had heard the rumour years ago.

“They say at the Tourney of Harrenhal Lord Eddard fell in love with the beauty that was Ashara Dayne and she had conceived, maybe under the belief that they would eventually get married. But fate never had that intention. When Brandon Stark, Ned’s older brother, was killed by the Mad King, Ned stepped up and did his duty and married Catelyn. Later, when Ned rode to Starfall with Dawn and the knowledge of new wife, she was lost. She died not long after and it is believed that the child that was born was Jon. Jon is Ser Arthur Dayne's heir.”

Still peering round, he could see Alayne huff as she continued to clean the cutlery. “I think its rude to call Jon ‘Ser Arthur Dayne Reborn’.” Jon waited for his heart to be smashed, but something a lot better came along. “Jon is not even a man and is probably twice the man he was. Jon is beloved by all those that met him and his reputation should be even greater.” She threw down the cutlery, annoyed by the situation. “The only thing holding it back is that his last name is _Snow_. That he is a bastard. Why should that even matter?”

Mya tutted and wagged her finger at the girl. “Ser Arthur was famous because he fought for the people, not just because he spoke with them. When Jon does the same, I’ll fight for him same as you. Well maybe not as much, seems you’re hoping Winter comes soon.”

While the old woman cackled, Jon noticed she nudged Alayne, who had turned as bright as he had earlier. Jon decided it was at that point that he should sneak away from it all, but stayed when he could hear Alayne speak up with a bit of tension ringing through her voice, “Trust me, he’d fight for his people and die for his people. And he **will** be loved.”

Jon decided to leave the room at that point. To know that people honestly thought of Jon was in the bracket of heroes of other generations, he felt obliged to show he had earned their faith in him.

He decided it was time to talk to Robb about this all so he strolled towards the Lords solar and ran into Harwin who was heading there to file his reports in.

“Ahhh, Jon, I was just heading to see your brother, guess you’ll have to do for now.” The guard gave him a friendly jab at the jape with a kind smile shone in Jons direction.

Jon decided to return the favour. Facing straight on, not even turning towards his companion. “Much in the same that I guess that you will have to do as Master of Horse for now. I thought Hallis would make a better one.”

The man looked completely perplexed at what was just said until Jon adjusted his head so that Harwin could see Jon's eye wink at him. Harwin then roared with laughter as they walked towards the Lords chamber, startling both Ghost and his master, and Jon could feel a stern grip from a hand on his shoulder.

“Maybe you do have a fire inside you after all, Snow. Or should I say ‘Ser Arthur Dayne Reborn’.” Harwin mock-bowed in front of Jon, which just caused him to scoff at the guard and roll his eyes to just carry on straightforward, letting Harwin jog to catch up.

“You know Jon, you do deserve a nickname, and I’m proud to say the one I came up with has been spreading nicely around the castle.”

Jon just raised an inquisitive eyebrow towards the guard to entertain him.

“The Sword of the Night.”

Jon just rolled his eyes again at that notion.

“No, you see it’s pretty good. It goes with the Stark idea of Winters so long nights. You have the black and dark hair features and you always wear black for some strange reason. Probably cos you’re sad you’ll never get laid.”

Jon playfully hit the man on the shoulder, chuckling as he did it. It did seem to be an alright nickname though – and was better than the Bastard of Winterfell. _At least it shows some positive ideas, and now I really have to live up to the identity of Ser Arthur now._ Jon also thought back to the words Tyrion said when they first met, _‘Never forget what you are, for surely the world will not. Make it your strength. Then it can never be your weakness. Armor yourself in it, and it can never be used to hurt you.’_ “You know what Harwin. I like it.” Jon let his grin shine towards the guard, which lit up the man’s face.

But the thought of Tyrion had annoyed Jon in a way, souring his look, as he left pretty abruptly the other night as he was spotted by the watchmen travelling South with his guards without saying a single goodbye.

By that point, Robb had spotted the two men walking towards the chamber, who had raised an eyebrow himself.

“Robb, I’ll explain – it’s kind of the reason why I’m here. But I’ll let Harwin fill you in on his reports first.”

Jon sat with Robb as Harwin stood and filled the both of them in. He said how he would often find the same horse disappearing at random times which caused the brothers to shoot each other glances. They knew that Arya had been sneaking off, but they decided not to say anything about the matter, she was always safe with Nymeria nearby. Other than that and the training of the cavalry, there was nothing extra to report so Harwin bowed and went on his way. As soon as the door closed behind him, Robb jolted his chair in the direction of his brother.

“So, Jon, what is it you want to talk about?” Robb kindly asked whilst crossing his legs and reclining backwards.

 _He’s your brother, you shouldn’t be nervous._ Jon knew his request still sounded strange, but he knew it was needed. “I would like to have a force of roughly twenty men placed under my command to allow me help the local villages.”

Jon knew it was a starting point, and Robb knew something had to be done. Bandits had been attacking certain villages close to Winterfell from hideouts inside the Wolfswood and they had to be dealt with. It had even started to cause issues within Wintertown – something that neither sibling could recall happening before. Robb tapped his fingers against the hard wooden armrest. “Twenty men? Seems small.”

“I intend to help them help themselves. The men I take can help me train them to defend themselves. Might even prove fruitful in the future.” Jon thought back to those piercing blue eyes that plagued his nightmares. He knew that he wasn’t always believed but he knew he had to work in their best interests.

Robb nodded, conceding defeat to his brother. “How long will you be gone?”

“A few weeks at most, the villages are only a couple days ride at most, and tearing down the bandits won’t be that hard.”

Robb bit his lips and nodded lightly. “I will sanction it, but I will have Jory go with you as well. Be swift, the North needs you.” His brother smiled lightly at Jon.

“I know, that’s why I must go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea of bandits in the Wolfswood is something I had as an idea ages back as it is so vast, it would be too hard to patrol all the time. And of course, there would be one bandit who had rose through the rank and escaped every time.


	6. Jon V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon rides out to find out a hidden secret, and hidden emotions are revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, thanks for the feedback, I hope you have enjoyed it so far and I hope you will enjoy where I am going to take it.
> 
> I hope to update this story relatively often, but that just comes whenever I have the time to do it in between assignments and other stuff, but I don't think I'll set up a schedule as I can't promise that I can keep to it.
> 
> Please enjoy.

Jon had left by early the next morning without bidding anyone a goodbye – Jon deemed it smarter to leave without anyone realising as to not tip off the bandits that their time was up. As the Sun rose, the men were saddled and ready to ride in a column of two, Jon being at the front. They thought he was alone, but Ghost had grown enough to ride with them and he decided that Ghost would act as a better companion. They travelled west towards the Wolfswood and entered to find the attacked villages, well the ones they knew of anyway. By the end of the day, they reached the first village at the side and looks around to see a village with a lake on each side, the larger one containing a Weirwood in the middle. In the middle of the huts of the village, Jon could spy a Longhall as well as a tall watchtower that stood well above the tree line. He turned his horse around to fall in with Jory.

“Well, it seems that we have found a base of operations for now.”

“It seems that way, Jon.” The guard smiled at Jon like a friend would. Normally on these journeys, Robb would talk to all the men, but Jon was quieter than that, preferring the natural sounds to voices. Of course, he would join in conversations sometimes, and always whilst camping – but there was something about just riding that Jon enjoyed.

As the party entered the village, Jon could notice the place had been attacked – arrow holes were seen piercing the buildings and wood looked black, like someone had tried to set it alight. Then the people began to file out – maybe over hundred people began to come out, all muttering to themselves. They all looked towards Jon, who had let his dark hair flow down around him, trying to look as Stark-like as possible. He even managed to hear some of the mutterings around him

_“Could that be him –”_

_“Who else has a beast like that –”_

_“– Valyrian steel sword, rumour has he named it Protector –”_

Jon had never thought to rename the sword honestly, no-one had ever asked. After all the time he spent with a whetstone he probably should, and Protector sounded like an apt name, but it would always remain Blackfyre to him.

_“– an honourable bastard by all accounts.”_

Jon strode up towards the Longhall where an old man stood before them. He was tall and well built, looking strong, his age only shown by his long grey hair that tumbled down and his thick braided beard. He wore no cloak – this man had lived through many a winter and had adapted especially to the cold it seems.

Jon jumped off his horse and strode towards the man, his cloak billowing in the wind revealing the sword to the people. Jory and the other men did the same, stopping when Jon reached the Elder. Jon stretched out his gloved hand towards the man. “Jon Snow.”

The man smirked and strongly gripped Jons' hand and shook it. “I guessed that, I do have eyes you know” the man quipped, and Jon decided to show that even the most solemn of bastards did have a sense of humour.

“Well, I couldn’t be too sure, wasn’t certain that a man of your old age could see.”

For a moment, nothing was said, the elder man just staring him down, before smile cracked on his face and let out a hearty laugh that made even Jon chuckle.

“Come on in son, it seems we have a lot to discuss.”

“Aye, we do” Jon said solemnly, knowing this is where it gets hard.

The men positioned themselves through the village to create a small defensive perimeter for Jon. Men were stationed on the Watchtower, surrounding the Longhall and on either end of the village, knowing that the flanks were covered by the lakes.

Jon and Jory entered the Longhall with the Elder and sat opposite him at their high table, which was located next to a grand fireplace. The man sat down and entwined his fingers together, sighing as he did so. He looked towards Jory, trying to get the measure of the man. “War veteran, huh?”

Jory nodded.

“Greyjoy Rebellion?”

Jory nodded again. “One of the men on Pyke.”

“Ahh, yes, you would be, being one of Ned Starks men. What did you say your name was again?” the man said inquisitively, tilting his head.

“I never did. Jory Cassel.” Jory stuck his arm across the table for the man to reach.

“Cassel, of course, I can see it in you now. I once fought alongside your father and your uncle many years ago down South at the Trident. Gods I feel old. I have to say, I feel honoured to be with a Stark and a Cassel once again.”

Jory was not a man to smile a lot in truth. Whilst he loved his job, Jon knew that it was hard and lonely at points, only finding solace during training. So when the man beamed and nodded in thanks towards the Elder, it could only make Jon feel happy for his companion.

Jon was the first to speak up again. “A Snow, my friend, not a Stark.”

The man lent back in his chair. “Trust me, I know a Stark when I see one. You might not have your father’s name, but trust me, you’re probably more Stark than some of Catelyn’s whelps.”

A comment like that stirred something in Jon. Not only was he insulted by how he described his siblings, but also how he described Catelyn. Sure, there were times when he was younger when all he could do was hate her, but he had made peace with it as much as possible then. And now, he had moved on.

“I’d like to let you know that I get along well with my family. All of my family, and you will respect them more than that when I stay here.” Jon didn’t know what he would do but he had to say something. His voice was made deep and he showed his fist clenching as it rested on the table.

The man nodded, a smile on his face. “A true wolf looks after their pack, no matter what. Sorry, I had to see for myself, son.”

Jons face shrivelled up into a face of annoyance. “I understand that bastards don’t have the best of reputations, but it doesn’t matter to me. You have asked about me and my companion, but have said nothing of yourself. We know not of your name.”

The Elder sat forward once again. “My name is Gayle. I have served through both Rebellions. And this is my home. Whilst strong, I am too old to protect it.”

Jon leant forward in his chair. “You don’t have to protect a village by yourself. That’s why we are here now. Too long has the noble houses left the villages here unattended as bandits plague them. We are here to stop them.”

“Son, you only have twenty men, they number at least a hundred, probably a lot more.”

Jon gave a dry dark smile. “You’d be amazed what twenty good men could do.”

 

~~~~~#~~~~~

 

For a few days, the men began instructing the locals on self-defence, how to set up perimeters and guard routes. Jon spoke with all the villagers and had many a woman look upon him and offer something he wasn’t willing to give, and every time he thought it, he was brought to the same face and wavy hair.

During his patrols, he would think back to the times when he would he would be shut into the cold.

_There was a feast to celebrate the birth of his youngest brother Rickon and all the Lords had been invited. And of course, Catelyn believed it would be best for the bastard to not be there. To not besmirch the honour of their House. So he decided to train instead – to use his aggression and anger positively like Jory had once said. He grabbed his sword and strode towards the practice area and began to release his rage._

_“Wow, I wonder what he did to deserve that torture” a voice cried out behind him as he used his sword to whack the dummy. He turned to find one of the maid’s daughters that was about his age behind him, a thin and short but pretty girl with wavy chestnut hair and deep green eyes._

_Jon tried to do something he rarely did – joke. “Aye, he attempted to kill Lord Stark” Jon replied, smiling as he said it._

_The girl in front of him giggled and looked down, something he thought so cute that Jon smiled. And when he brought her eyes back up to his, he looked into them and knew he would remember that moment forever._

_“Why aren’t you in the feast?” Jon asked inquisitively to the beautiful girl before him._

_She looked down. “You’re not the only one not wanted at the feast. Only highborn allowed according to Lady Stark” she scowled. It was nice to know that he shared the animosity for Catelyn with someone. “All I wanted to do was dance anyway.”_

_Jon wasn’t particularly thinking straight at that point, but he felt a confidence he hadn’t felt before. “Just because you can’t dance in there, doesn’t mean you can’t dance tonight.” Jon walked over and grabbed her hand. “Come on.”_

_They ran to the gate and went through to find the yard outside the Great Hall empty except for the music that flowed through the air. She put her left hand on his shoulder and he put his right around her back, their free hands being placed in a grip. When Jon was younger, he had mostly stayed on the benches to watch others dance and tended to brood. So Jon decided to do something he had rarely done before – Jon took the lead. They flowed together in time, as they just looked into the eyes of the other._

_Eventually, Jon was able to open his mouth. “You never said your name?”_

_She just giggled. “Alayne.”_

_Alayne. Jon grinned like an idiot. “A beautiful name to go with a beautiful girl.”_

_Even in the low firelight, Jon could see her blush a red he thought not possible. Then it was her turn to ask a question._

_“So, Ser Angry Man, what is your name?” she asked, pointing her finger into his chest._

_In reply, Jon spun her around before bringing her closer than before. “Jon. Jon Snow.”_

_Her eyes widened when he said that, and before they could talk Jon could see his Uncle Benjen walk through the gate and the music came to an end. “It was lovely to dance, my Lady. I must bid you a good night.” Jon said, full of tongue and cheek, leaving her flustered as he walked away._

 

And ever since, they would talk when they met – even if it had been infrequent in those years. He had felt the pain when passing men would give her longing looks and a happiness he felt round very few people.

 

~~~~~#~~~~~

 

Whilst he was there, Jon thought back to how Ser Arthur Dayne broke the Kingswood Brotherhood by looking after the smallfolk. Of course, it was a different situation, but it was better to prevent an uprising like this happening again. He took in the villagers concerns, like how difficult it was to travel to Winterfell during winter when they need to get there for supplies, and how they feel disconnected from the other villages. After speaking with Jory, Jon was able to promise that a route between the villages of the Winterfell Wolfswood would be established but clearing trees and flattening the earth. However, Jon said that the people would have to look after and tend to the road. Jon hoped it would be received warmly, but the reaction was better than that. No-one had ever thought a noble would fight for their side, and even if it was a bastard, they knew to respect it. And it earnt Jon their loyalty and respect, and Jon could even hear the whispers of _‘the Sword of the Night’_ when he passed by, which lifted his spirits, even if he hated the moniker. He had earned the notoriety of being a valiant man, but he was yet to earn the notoriety for real combat.

As he spoke to the villagers, he noticed them talking about how worried they were about the ‘Mad Wolf’, who Jon assumed was just a normal wolf who hounded their livestock. The thought of it didn’t leave Jons mind. It was something that was said by everyone, and just the mention of it could just stiffen people up. When he was on patrol with Jory, he decided to ask him about it all.

“Jory, have you heard of the Mad Wolf? The villagers keep talking about it like it was a person.”

Jory just sighed and stopped in his tracks. “I guess it’s time for you to know.” He paced towards a couple barrels, which they both sat on. Jory took a deep breath, as if the information was going to shake it. “It’s one of the reasons why I didn’t want to come out. The Mad Wolf is infamous around here, in Wintertown and in the whole North really. Your father hid it from you and Robb. At first, it was to not scare you when we went hunting, and then it was so the both of you wouldn’t sneak off to try and find him.”

Jon wished he could argue, but he knew that he and Robb were dumb kids when they were younger.

“About five years ago, there was talk of him, a Mad Wolf that would reign terror on those deepest in the Wolfswood, away from the noble protection. Your father and I, along with fifty men went to deal with him. We could never find him. He would attack places where we weren’t. It was completely demoralising. He knew the Wolfswood better than the man who rules it." Jory abruptly stopped, clenching his fist. "He’s more dangerous than you think, they say he’s unbeatable. He has beaten any sellsword hired to kill him, and he doesn’t take prisoners.”

Jon contemplated what to do next. He couldn’t let this monster rove around, doing as he pleases. “Well, I think it’s time to draw out this Mad Wolf to put him down.”

“Jon, you can’t go in deeper to face him. He has lived there his entire life, he knows it better than we ever could. Your father fell into that folly, and many died because of it.”

Jon gave one of his dark smirks. “Who said that we would go to him?”

Jory thought about it for a second and nodded. The look shared between them let Jon know that Jory knew what plan he had in mind.

 

~~~~~#~~~~~

 

Jon made sure that it spread where he was and how he had insulted the Mad Wolf. Of course, Jon had to speak with Gayle about it all.

“This is a bold move you have planned Jon. You will be outnumbered five-to-one.”

Jon was then reminded of something that his father had shown him when he and Robb had pestered him over war tactics.

“What is larger, five or one?”

The man looked over with slitted eyes at the trick question. “Five.”

Jon raised his open left hand. “Five.” And then raised his closed right fist. “One. One united by a single idea. We are all here to save people, trained our entire lives for it. Ready to give our lives. They come for loot and pillage. They all have different interests. They are easily divisible. They will turn at the first sign of loss.”

Gayle nodded. “I have faith in you, my friend. Do the North proud. Earn that title that you have been given.”

Jon smiled. “I will.”

 

~~~~~#~~~~~

 

Jon spent much of the next couple days doing hard training, beating many men with Protector, the new name for Blackfyre. Jon found it an apt name, even if it was one he hadn’t chosen. It added even more to the myth that was Jon Snow. Sometimes, he would row over to the Weirwood in the middle of the lake and pray to the Old Gods whilst using the whetstone on his sword. Then, on the third day, at midday, a horn rang through the village – the Mad Wolf had finally arrived. Jon had them drawn into the small alleys between the houses were numbers mattered less and skill became more useful as long as someone had your back. Groups of ten split down each alley, whilst twenty men strolled straight for the Longhall, where Jon, Jory and Gayle waited with ten of their own. The five best guards and five best villagers, all with armour and swords.

A man stood out, right at the front, he was wearing a wolfs pelt down his back, the scalp and snout over his head as if he was trying to be a wolf. He had little armour over him, but his muscles showed his strength and the wildness in his eyes showed him to not be tamed.

“I guess you are the Mad Wolf. I’m sure you’ve come here to turn yourself in.” Jon said, faking the confidence that he hoped he was showing.

The Mad Wolf just barked at Jon. “No, in matter of fact, I heard you had a nice sword, and I was coming here to have it.”

Jon unsheathed Blackfyre as his men unsheathed theirs. “Then you shall have it, sir.”

A loud horn was sounded around the village, signifying the attack, and the release of Ghost from the Kennels. Jon knew that he would have to slay the Mad Wolf quickly to limit the bloodshed. He ran forward, and the Mad Wolf mirrored him. Each other’s men gave them a pocket to fight, and Jon could feel the blood flowing through his veins.

Their swords clashed as they both swiped right, matching each-others strength. Jon pulled away, allowing his opponent to attack him first, and Jon matched each blow. Jon kept his feet under him and allowed the man to show his weaknesses. He watched the man swing right and left, jab at him, slice at his feet. And every time he would deflect it away with Blackfyre. The Mad Wolf had earned his name for a reason. He had no orthodox fighting style – his method was adapted from learning weaknesses of traditional stances and movements. But Jon had left those ideas years ago. Jons stance was fluid depending on the position of his sword, and his weight followed behind it. Being on the defensive made Jon wary that he could be losing men at any moment, and that a single swipe that he would be too slow to block would kill him.

Jon stepped left to allow a downward slice to land on the ground beside him, and the Mad Wolfs sword was raised to take off Jon’s head. But Jon noticed something, a little hitch in the man’s right arm, causing his swings to be slower, allowing for an attacking window.

Jon baited the man to repeat his trick, and the man took it. Instead of ducking away from a slice towards his head, Jon put his weight behind Blackfyre and deflected the blade away before using the Valyrian steel to cut off the mans arm. As the man collapsed, the Wolf in Jon came out and growled.

Jon threw the man to the ground and turned to the other men who had just watched their leader lose. “Well? Drop your weapons or die.”

And all the men surrendered, and they all called out for the others to surrender. But none of their fellow bandits came out, only all of Jon’s men, covered in too much blood. Their only casualty being Gayle, who had fought off five men before succumbing to his injuries. Ghost trotted up after the skirmish, his white fur covered with red spots to match his eyes. Jon knelt down to ruffle his hair.

“Good job Ghost” whispered Jon as the wolf panted in his face, which could only make Jon smile. He turned towards Jory and ordered “Burn the bodies. Trust me.”

Jory did as he was told. Of the seven bandits that remained not including the Mad Wolf, Jon had agreed to pardon six, as one would have to die for the death of Gayle. An older man stepped forward. “I have been through many a winter and many a raid. It only seems fit that now is the time for justice.” Jon nodded at the man and had him chained and taken to the Longhall with the madman.

Jon then spoke to the remaining men. “You will return to your families and spread word of what will happen if you dare to cross the Starks and the true Wolves of the North. And you will talk about how merciful the Starks are to let you live.”

The men nodded and left the village, as to not be killed by the villagers who had suffered at their hands. Then, all that was left was the executions. _The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword_ ravaged Jon’s mind, wondering whether or not he was strong enough to take an undefended mans life. But he owed it to them to do the deed himself.

In front of the crowd who had gathered to witness it, the two men were brought out before the crowd. Jory took the head of the first man as he was adamant that life had to be taken whereas Jon had pursued for the man to be sent to the Wall. Gayle had obviously struck a chord with Jory that Jon had never seen before, probably how they were both veterans of grand battles and how they had talked in the evenings between patrols. His head was removed swiftly, few words spoken.

Then the Mad Wolf was brought before the silent crowd, Jon seeing the hatred in the eyes. He stood before them and commanded his voice to show confidence before them. “I, Jon Snow, in the name of Eddard of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, sentence you to die. Do you have any final words?”

The Mad Wolf gave his final chuckle. “I would do it all again bastard.”

After seeing all of what the people had suffered, the inner wolf in him came out and kicked his jaw, just as the last bit of pain for him. Jon raised Blackfyre, wondering how many lives it had taken. As he swung it down, the Valyrian steel sheared his head from his neck, and only the sound of the head crashing against the ground could be heard across the village.

Jon turned to the villagers, his blood pumping round harder than it ever had. “Let it be known that the Starks will ride to defend its people, now and always, and we will always bring justice.”

Nothing more needed to be said, and after all that, Jon just wanted to ride home.

 

~~~~~#~~~~~

 

Very little was said on the return journey, many men trying to not cause further issues to their injuries, something Jon was very wary of. He let them ride slow and Jon kept pace with them, joining in on the banter and jibes they had at one another. After fighting with these men, Jon knew he would die to save any one of their lives. They were some of the best Winterfell had to offer, and the world now knew how strong Northmen truly were. A name had popped up in the village for the group – Bastards Men. They said they were more loyal to Jon than to his trueborn brother. Weirdly, Jon knew it was true, but Jon knew that they would also obey and die for Robb. These men had their loyalty earnt of the field of battle, something which Robb has yet to prove. He had known of the talk that there was something special about Jon, be he didn’t want the fame or the glory, he just wanted people to feel safe. Anyway, Jon would seek to prove his brother as the best Northmen to ever live, someone who deserved unwavering loyalty through the compassion and strong leadership Robb already possessed. Jon knew Robb, and there was no man out there more deserving.

They decided to push on to reach Winterfell, even if that meant riding during the night. They had Wyll who knew the lay of the land and how to traverse using the stars, so they were safe no matter what. But fortunately for them, they reached the edges of Wintertown by sunset.

As they rode into town, people came out of the houses to watch them ride towards the gate. Jon paid no attention to the whispers, wanting his men to get into the castle so the men can see Maester Luwin so they can be patched up. As they approached the gate, it immediately opened and they rode towards the stable.

As they dismounted, Jon took Jory aside. “Take the healthy men and use them to carry those who need to see the Maester to his quarters. I said I’d allow them to go back to their families tonight, but I’d rather make sure their wounds aren’t infected.”

“Smart idea Jon.” The man smirked, before placing a hand on Jons' shoulder. “You fought well out there, truly.”

Jon nodded, then Jory turned away to start walking towards the men and started to bark commands at them, which they followed. Jon now alone, allowed himself to lean against a pole and sigh a breath of relief of making it home. He looked down to see some cuts of his own that he had not registered, probably because he didn’t think he had the time to.

Well, he was alone, until he was startled by a slam on the door. He turned to expect Robb or Arya to be there to welcome him home. But it was someone else unexpected. He looked into those deep green eyes to see pain, and sadness and anger. Alayne.

She took steps towards Jon as she spoke, letting her arms run wild. “Do you know what we went through? Ran off in the middle of the night, not leaving even a note. Did you even think about how this would affect the older household members who helped raise you? Huh. How do you think Arya felt when she went to find you and found an empty bed? Do you know how much Rickon cried at the thought of losing a family member?” The woman stood strong just feet in front of Jon, not showing emotion apart from a single tear that fell across her supple cheek, her words piecing Jon where it hurt most.

“I spoke with Robb about it. Someone had to go deal with it.” Jon said solemnly, looking down whilst giving a half excuse.

“He was the worst bandit in the Wolfswood for generations. You could’ve died. Do you realise what that would’ve done to those that cared for you?” She said, with tears streaming more as she took another step towards him. He looked up towards her and lost himself in those green eyes once again, now only showing her pain.

Jon scowled slightly. “I know that, but I couldn’t let the people suffer. I never knew he was there or who he was, but I couldn’t let him carry on hurting the innocent when I found out what he did.”

Then she looked away from his eyes to spy the scars and cuts that could be seen through the torn fabric. As her tear turned into a stream, she stood close to him to run her hand over his scars on his chest. Her hands flowing down towards his arms, finally gripping his hand to feel the scars and bruises that now covered it. His heart exploded at the touch, and felt cold when she pulled away to look into his eyes once again. “What went through that thick skull to make you think that you had to take him on?”

Jon took a step towards her, releasing his own tear. “You.” Her eyes widened as she looked deep into Jons eyes, not turning back once. “I heard you in the kitchen talking to Mya. You spoke so highly of me and I didn’t want to let you down. I never want to let you down.”

For a moment, nothing was spoken between them. The gap between them stayed for a while, waiting for the other. But neither could hold it much longer. As they both leaned, another slam was heard at the other end of the stable, which drove a wedge of air between them.

“JON” a high pitched voice screamed from the girl running towards him. It took a lot to pull him from the gaze of Alayne, but he managed all the same just to catch the ball that was Arya, who threw herself into Jon’s arms. She held him so tightly, he thought he was going to die.

As she let go, he placed her down only to receive a punch straight on his right arm, causing him to growl and reach for his left arm to try and rub out the pain. Then she turned to the maid who was just standing there.

“Alayne, what are you doing here?” Jon was sure Arya had good intentions with that question but it came off more bluntly than she probably more imagined.

By that point, Alayne had managed to wipe away her tears and had only a bit of red in her eyes to show the emotion. “I had just come down to tell him how much the people who cared deeply for him missed him, my Lady.”

Jon was just thankful that some of the love related ideas were too old for Arya as Jon and Alayne looked at one another once again. Arya just huffed at that, drawing their attention away from each other. “Well, now he knows. I think I can handle things on my own fine now.”

Jon tried to hide a chuckle, knowing how prickly she can be.

“Of course, my Lady.” She curtsied towards Arya. “Jon, my doors always open” she seductively said, swaying her hips as she moved.

Arya gave a quizzical look as her brother lowered his hands to hold them in the area below his stomach, as if hiding something.

“Come on Jon, Robb wants you to eat with us now. And we want to hear all about it!”

 

~~~~~#~~~~~

 

So Jon was basically dragged round to the Lords Solar where Robb was waiting alone, obviously, as Bran and Rickon had been put to bed as they needed more sleep. And with Arya, well, it was probably easier to manage her if she was a bit sleepier during the day. Jon had managed to avoid talking about it to just her by promising to run to the Solar, so by the time he arrived, he was drenched in sweat and thankful that there was drink there to quench his thirst.

Of course, Robb and Arya asked about the ordeal, at which Arya never looked away, basically leaning all over the table in amazement. The stories even caused Robb to stop eating due to how crazy it was.

“Well Jon, if I ever became a King, it seems you’d be the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.” The thought of it made them all laugh. Robb being a King and Jon protecting him. Jon was sure that it would never happen in this world. “Arya, you’ve heard the story now, you can go to sleep.”

She then pouted, sticking out her bottom lip. “But I’m not tired.”

Robb stared her down and called her bluff. “Go. To. Sleep.” Robb calmly commanded, at which point she yawned, proceeding to then hug both her brothers before leaving for her room.

“At least that shows that you’re stronger than me, that look would’ve broken me.” Jon admitted.

“Girls take practice Jon, I’m sure you know that after the back and forth with the maid, whats her name? Alayne, was that it?” Robb said, too smugly for Jon’s liking.

“Aye, Alayne. How did you know about her?” Jon sceptically asked.

“I’m your brother, I have an intuition.” Robb bragged, relaxing back into his chair, causing Jon to raise an eyebrow to call out his bullshit. “Come on, you always go into the kitchen when it is not needed, at which point you come out smiling. When do you ever smile?” That caused a piece of chicken to be thrown at Robb, who caught it in his mouth, taking a bite out of it. _Damn asshole perfect brother._ “Point proven. You were hesitant to leave for another reason that wasn’t family. Just tell me you haven’t **just** flirted with her.”

Jon just looked down towards the table, continuing to eat. Robb just leaned forward whilst sighing, his head now resting in his hands.

“Jon. You are in a rare position, a bastard can fall in love with the common and the highborn and their family would support it. For the love of all that’s living for, promise me that you will go for her.”

Jon looked at his brother, who had more experience with the Ladies, and just nodded, standing up ready to leave to do what needed to be done.

“Before you leave Jon, I did have a present made for you by Mikken. I had heard the stories of you being the ‘Sword of the Night’ whilst you had fun gallivanting around the North whilst the rest of us had to run it.”

 Jon watched, his mouth as wide open as it ever had, as his brother brought out a set of black plated armour, built specifically for him. Everything from the leather jerkin, gorget, pauldrons, rerebraces, vambraces and couters were covered in the darkest black, with the only colour coming from the white wolf on the shoulders and jerkin. Jon went to thank his brother, but Robb raised his hand.

“You can thank me later, it’ll be sent to your room for you.”

Robb got out of his chair and went to look out of the solar through the window. “It’s a lovely night, don’t you think. Pity to spend it alone.” Robb turned his cheek enough so Jon could barely see a quick wink from Robbs left eye.

Jon got his message.

 

~~~~~#~~~~~

 

By the time Jon had reached Alayne's door, he had dealt with what he was going to do. He didn’t even bother knocking. Jon swung the door open and to find her sitting on the edge of the bed, combing her hair. She turned quickly to see Jon at the door. She stood up to meet up, her mouth turning into a grin. Jon grabbed the door, closing it to bolt the door.

_It’s about damn time._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there is the original character. For me, it only made sense that Jon would have found companionship when he was younger and it will serve him well, and will give him experience for the future. I decided that with how I am going to take the story that Ygritte wouldn't be the woman to steal his heart.
> 
> I hope you guys can at least see why I have done this, and I hope you enjoyed this.
> 
> Also, if you want to keep up to date with how when the chapters are released or being close, heres my Tumblr:  
> https://nightflyerposts.tumblr.com/


	7. Jon VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon rises from the previous morning, and he gets his next task in life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, shit.
> 
> Its been 5 months. A lot has happened between massive amounts of uni coursework and exams, and now I finally got over the hump with my writing. And even though I'll be working, I will at least have some more free time to write. A chapter a week sounds achievable(hopefully).
> 
> Hope you enjoy.

Jon woke in the morning to the men training in the yard below.  _Well, I am allowed a little time to myself, I’m not the Lord of this castle._ He could feel the breath of Alayne on his neck as she slept, strands of hair covering his mouth. Well, it wasn’t the weirdest thing touched by his mouth recently. He rubbed his hands down her naked body, stopping when they reached her perfect rear. It was something he hadn’t truly noticed before, but blame can be put on the terrible dresses for the maids. After thinking about the night, he placed a light kiss on her forehead, causing her to stir in her sleep, gripping him tighter. He decided to close his eyes, to try and get some more rest – something he hadn’t gotten much of recently, but was jolted by the movement of the lady before him. She moved her body up and planted a kiss upon Jon’s lips before slipping down to her previous position.

“Morning,” Jon growled softly through his sore throat. “I’m amazed that you would kiss my lips knowing where they were last night.”

Even through the web of hair, he could see her blush. “Well, consider it a part of a very long payment for what you did. It was indescribable, how did you know to do that?”

Jon himself blushed at that point. “Well, I just wanted to kiss you there, and you seemed to like it so I kept going.”

“Oh. I liked it.” Alayne said, whimpering slightly as she finished. “But next time, I’m going to pay you the same favour you paid me.”

Jon felt his blood pump around his body faster than at any other time. Not due to what she was implying, but that she wanted him again. It was still an unusual feeling for Jon after the many years with Catelyn. “Well, maybe tonight you can do that in my room. You’d even have a balcony to look out from the window.”

Her hand on his chest, she sat up to look at Jon in the eyes, which still melted Jon’s heart, with a playful smirk. “Don’t give me naughty ideas Jon Snow.”

Jon raised himself up to meet her, matching her playfulness. “Or what?”

She threw him back to the bed, kissing him passionately – which he immediately returned. He had intended to get up to help Robb.

_Well, I’m sure Robb will be fine for now._

 

~~~~~#~~~~~

 

Jon eventually left the room and made his way into his own to get changed into some appropriate clothing for the day, and by that he meant something that wasn’t partially torn, to find Ghost staring at him worryingly, obviously panicked when Jon hadn’t returned the previous night. Jon walked over and ruffled the hair on his head.

“It’s okay now boy, you have nothing to fear. I will never leave you.”

To prove his point, he knelt down, putting his head against his wolves, Jon feeling a deep connection that he couldn’t yet explain, other than the dreams of Jon running through the Wolfswood during full moons. He got up, shaking that thought out of his mind, putting on a new jerkin along with the new armour. The weight of it was lighter than normal armour but felt just as strong, made of a metal he knew not off. It was not Valyrian steel, but maybe something similar. The armour on his shoulders was shorter than normal Northern make, but Jon knew that it would help with his swordplay as it would be less cumbersome to fight in. Jon was especially impressed with the vambrace, which fit his forearm perfectly and had these spikes sticking backwards, making him look both more daunting and dangerous.

As he put the last piece on, he picked up Blackfyre, which had been placed on his bed, and attached it to his belt. Jon whistled to Ghost, calling for the large white furball to get off the floor and follow him so they could get on with the day.

 

~~~~~#~~~~~

 

Jon had been unsure of where to go, but when he looked out of the courtyard to see the Sun straight above him, he knew that there would be a meeting in the Lords Solar – a meeting that Jon was meant to be attending.

As he rushed there, he pushed the doors open with a greater force than expected, causing everyone in the room to look over towards him. Looking around the room, he saw his brother obviously, Jory and Ser Rodrik, Maester Luwin, Harwin, Mikken and Farlen. When they all saw the overall flustered Jon, they all gave him the proudest, dirtiest smirk.

“Nice of you to finally join us, Jon, I trust you had a good night’s sleep?” his brother playfully asked.

Farlen, the broad kennelmaster, spoke before Jon was able to reply. “If any of the screams I heard last night were to prove anything, no sleep was had.”

All the men burst into laughter, causing Jon to blush like a young maiden.

Jory then came up in Jon’s defence. “It means he’s already better than you Farlen.”

That caused the men to be rowdy, making even Jon laugh. And for once in his life, Jon felt at home. Winterfell was where he had lived, but there was always something missing – a coldness that could not be warmed. But after all the turmoil the Starks had gone through, he felt as if the family was stronger now than it ever had. And he had someone that could light up the dark in his world.

 

~~~~~#~~~~~

 

For a couple months, not much occurred. Jon would report to meetings in the morning, train with Jory, drill the men, train Arya and Rickon, eat, and then retire to his new larger quarters. Robb had offered them to him as there was much more space large enough for two people to stay as Robb had taken over the Lord’s bedroom. Whilst the times were nice, especially the time spent with Arya who had been getting better with her swordplay, Jon found it rather tame and boring after the expedition out to the Wolfswood.

So Jon jumped at the opportunity to ride south to Castle Cerwyn to help with an issue with bandits. Also, he was only half a day’s ride from Winterfell, so not too far if things went wrong at home. Jon also missed his friend Cley Cerwyn. He and Cley had a strange relationship when they were both younger. Cley had treated him like a bastard, demeaning him and ignoring him, preferring the company of Robb. But their friendship got put onto the right tracks when Jon had saved him when they went hunting with their fathers a few years prior. A boar had nearly taken him down before Jon shot it in its heart with an arrow. Jon had asked for nothing in return and told nothing to anyone about how Cley was quivering with fear,  _like any sensible person would in that situation._  And ever since, the respect Cley had shown to Jon had turned into a strong friendship.

The bandits there were not as interesting as the Mad Wolf and were put down easily. Jon, of course, stayed with his friend for a bit longer and took a slow journey back with Ghost. During the nights in the pitched tent with Ghost at his side he felt stronger than ever, and to see all the stars was an unforgettable beauty.  _Maybe one day I’ll take Arya and Nymeria on a tour of the North one day. She would like that. Maybe I could convince Alayne to spend a night out here._  His thoughts kept drifting to her, and after the week or so away, he didn’t expect to get much sleep the next night.

And then he was back into the daily grind, and for a couple weeks, nothing really changed.         

 

~~~~~#~~~~~

 

Then the unexpected happened. Jon and Robb had been helping Maester Luwin with the running of the castle one evening and crossed the courtyard when they were stopped by a guard. He had broken a sweat trying to get to them and seemed out of breath.

“Alyn, you look like you’re about to pass out. What is it?” Robb said as he chuckled, at which point Jon joined in. Alyn was a tough and loyal guard, and someone who Robb knew well.

Alyn still looking at the ground panted out “There’s a lot of smallfolk outside, four hundred at least, asking to see you” whilst pointing towards Jon and Robb, who were stood side by side.

Robb and Jon shared a sense of bewilderment. “Why are they here to see me?” Robb spoke up.

Alyn looked up and towards Jon. “Not you, my lord, Jon.”

They shared a worried look and headed into the Great Hall. No words were spoken between the brothers, they knew how dangerous this could be. Robb sat in the Lords Chair and Jon to his right. Ser Rodrik had been informed of this and was already sat to Robbs left. Then the guards opened the doors, and all these young men strode down the hall and knelt at Robbs feet. Robb looked somewhat uncomfortable in that position, and even in Jon’s limited experiences, he knew that was a good trait. He stood up and raised his hands for the men to do the same, proceeding to look at the faces that were dotted in the crowd.

“You have all come to see my brother. He is a good man.” Robb paused for a second, and Jon could hear him sharply exhale and smile. “No, he is one of the best men to set foot on this world.” Jon smiled, knowing his brother thought of him so highly. “But why have you come here to see him.”

A man stepped forward. “I am Guymon, I came from a village in the Gift, one you passed through on your way back from the wall.”

“Aye” Jon spoke, his voice more confident than he expected, “I remember, you have a young child with your wife, Olly if I’m correct.”

Both Robb and Guymon smiled at him, impressed by his knowledge.

“You are, Lord Snow.” Jon had no love for that term, but he did not wince. “We are here as we have noticed that Wildlings are being allowed through into the Gift. We know why, you even shared the story yourself. But with them on the Gift, there isn’t much room for everybody so I had an idea, all of us with skills come south to Winter Town with our families and work to help pay for our children. We are a mix of sorts – both Free Folk and those of the Gift”

Free Folk and Gift-men. Working together. Maybe there is some hope for the Great War that will come. “I can get behind that, but there is no need to see to me about this.”

“No, but we know what is coming, and we want to help you, my Lord. We want to pledge ourselves to you under the condition you train us and lead us. We have all heard the stories of you and the Mad Wolf. We need a new hero, and you are it, Jon Snow.”

A command of his own. It was something he had dreamed of for years, longer than he would like to admit. He turned gobsmacked toward Robb who shared the expression, but whose face had a wide smile. And then, surprisingly, Robb spoke. “I will permit this force to be created. You will be given proper armour and equipment, and you will follow Jon into battle wherever he goes, be it against the dead or the living. You will, however, swear by the Old Gods to never betray House Stark. Those are my terms.”

Robb knew that the cost of all this would be high and that there would be rumours of Robb in the South. Of a warmonger building up his own army, and their Father would feel the full force of it. But Jon had convinced Robb that a force was needed, and this was it. And he shrewdly put it under Jon’s command to make it seem somewhat neutral to others but to allow it to also follow him. Jon nodded at the idea, liking it.

Guymon turned around to the other men, and as Jon looked around, he could see some familiar faces. Some from the villages in the Gift. Some from the Wolfswood villages. And some from Wintertown. “We can accept those terms, my Lord.”

All the men knelt before Jon and Rob dragged him out of his seat and sat down himself. Jon gulped. “I will take you under my command, and swear to protect you from those that would do you harm.” Then, now as a commander of men, Jon started to command. “We will meet at the edge of town to train tactics and skills. If my Lord Brother allows it, I will take some of the men from the guard to help train you and they will serve as my Lieutenants until you prove yourselves worthy.”

Robb smiled at him. “I give you full access to the resources you need for this… project.”

 

~~~~~#~~~~~

 

Jon had gotten lucky to be perfectly honest. Each of the men had at least some experience – be it with a sword, spear or bow. His father had also sent men North before Robb could send a raven south to him. It consisted of about hundred men of Northern origin who had been born by soldiers that had stayed in the South after Roberts Rebellion. It seems the tales of the young Wolf Pack had spread to the South.

Since Jon would ride out to deal with bandits and justice, Robb would ride out to deal with errant Lords and listened to the complaints of his people. Robb had left Jon in charge of Winterfell for a week when he had heard that there had been a dispute between Lord Tallhart of Torrhen’s Square and its citizens. And since the peaceful and shrewd negotiation that benefitted everyone, Robb had been given the respect he deserves for the kind of man he is. From just the reputation and Jon and Robb, everyone began to believe there was something special in this generation of Starks.

Once the men arrived, they had their names recorded and sent to Wintertown so they could apply their talents to help the area. However, at one point, Jon noticed a younger face than the other men, but a recognisable one. Jon was leaning on a wall next to Robb to make sure the transition went smoothly whilst talking, and when Robb noticed the same face his eyes widened.

Robb nudged Jon. “Does that boy look recognisable to you?”

 Jon looked harder. There was something about the lad – he looked well built for his age, like incredibly strong to see how carried all the blacksmithing gear on him, and the facial features. He had a full hair of dark black hair that flowed down to his shoulders and piercingly bright lightning-blue eyes. “Aye, he looks familiar? Do you have an idea why?”

Robbs' mouth grew into that dumb smirk he gets an idea. “Oh, I think I have an idea.”

At that point, Robb pushed himself off the wall started to stroll towards the lad, and Jon joined him. The lad was last in the line so it didn’t mean that much if they were to speak to him at that point, and his eyes opened when he could see the two notorious Starks walking towards him. Jon could see a little twinge in his eye. Fear.

By that point, they were standing face to face with the kid, Robb smiling at him, stretching out his hand. “I’m Robb Stark, acting Lord of Winterfell.” The kid shook his hand. “And this is my brother Jon Snow. I’m sure you’ve heard about him.” Jon extended his hand in the same courtesy as his brother did, to which the lad shook.

It took a deep breath for the boy to speak. “I am Gendry Waters, my Lords. Your Lord Father sent me here.”

Robb nodded. “Then you will be extended a luxury. I spoke to my father about needing a talented blacksmith. How about you?”

Gendry’s chest swelled with pride. “I was a student of the great Tobho Mott, his greatest apprentice.”

Jon and Robb shared a look before Robb turned to smile at the blacksmith. “Then you will be granted a room in the castle and will work with our old blacksmith Mikken. Drop your valuables off and head to the armoury when you are done.”

Gendry at least knew his courtesies and bowed to them before leaving. “Yes, milord.”

As he walked out of earshot, Jon turned curiously to his brother. “So, what are you thinking?”

Robb grinned and turned to walk back to the Solar for the days meeting, causing Jon to roll his eyes and having to jog to catch up to Robbs pace. “Come on brother, what’s rattling round in that bright mind of yours?”

“I suppose you didn’t see the King much when we hosted him.”

Jon squinted his eyes. “No, only a fleeting glance. Why?”

Robb smiled. “Just describe King Robert to yourself. How do you describe his features?”

Jons eyes opened wide when thought about it, causing Robb to laugh.  _How could I have been that thick?_ He was one of the many Kings bastards if rumour has it. “But why is he here?”

Robbs faced darkened at that point, his eyebrows becoming furrowed, scratching at his growing beard. “Father wouldn’t have sent him here unless something bad was happening in the South – he had a life there. Father must have feared for the boy’s life. Also makes sense why he would send  _that_ many men North, it would let him blend in that much more. Which makes this all more worrisome.”

“It’s a good point, and makes even more sense about why these men were on the way, and it gives Father an out if he was compromised with the letters.” Jon paused to think. His Father was shrewder than what he was given. “Well, we can defend him and protect him here,” Jon said supportively, as he patted his brother on the shoulder. “Take your mind off it, we have a lot to do.”

Robb nodded, still frowning, obviously not listening to his brother’s advice

 

~~~~~#~~~~~

 

Five hundred men. It was hard to train all of them, so he had split them into groups. Three hundred pure infantrymen, one hundred cavalry and one hundred archers. Jon took the infantrymen under his control and used his study of Essos to help him decide how he was going to lay the men out. He had heard of the Unsullied fighting style, and how the men won the day – but as he looked deeper, there was something more than just that. The formation meant that cavalry and infantry charges would end in demise due to the spears, and the shields would stop attacks from arrows raining from above. Jon could also see the usefulness of camouflaged archers, which could be used in skirmishes to harry the enemy, as well as destroy their forces if they decided to attack. And cavalry was always useful for shock charges and chasing down the enemy. So Jon came up with his battalions armour situation.

He knew that some armour was needed, but leather would do most of the job required, which would allow for better movement and a lowered cost as it required only a light amount of chain mail to be placed under it. More money would be put into larger and lighter shields as to protect them from the attacks. This called upon letters to be sent to House Forrester of Ironrath with the Ironwood forests. Ironwood was strong and light, although in little supply. And in hearing this message, the Lord of Ironrath, Gregor Forrester, sent his son and heir to Winterfell to hear out Jon.

 

~~~~~#~~~~~

 

It took a week for the man to arrive, and the man that arrived looked fearsome, a man with a formidable presence – a true leader of men. He had a strong build, with long brown hair and a trimmed-but-long beard. He reminded Jon of Robb in a way, maybe a few years older and maybe a bit cockier though. Jon met him in the courtyard, making sure that he was escorted through Wintertown by the recently trained cavalry members. Of course, the cavalry that Jon possessed was all light cavalry but he thought it best not to show it.

The man leapt out of the seat, handing the reins to the stable boy. He strode over to where Jon was standing, who was in his full armour set, extending a hand. “Rodrik Forrester.”

“Jon Snow” Jon replied, gripping the man’s hand.

“I guessed that” looking past Jon to the large white direwolf behind Jon, chewing on a bone. “When you sent a raven saying that the matter was of the utmost importance, my family was rather shocked. There is no war for the wood to be used. There is no new construction going on.”

“Walk with me Rodrik.” As Jon turned, and the man and strolled alongside Jon as they went towards the stairs towards the balcony over the courtyard. “What are House Starks words?”

Rodrik looked unamused but said them anyway. “Winter is coming. Why?”

“You see, everyone sees them as either a threat about the Starks being Winter and coming for its enemies. Or a passive statement about the North and being hardest off in Winter. Everyone is wrong.”

They were now overlooking the courtyard, watching the guards train and work. The built man harrumphed. “What does it actually mean then?”

  _Now to see if he thinks you’re mad._ “It is a warning to everyone. Winter is coming. The Long Night is coming, and the dead with it.”

Rodrik laughs at the matter if it is all a joke – that is until he sees Jon standing broodingly as he looks over the courtyard. “You can’t be serious. Those are only old wives tales.”

Jon turns swiftly away from the man. “Follow” Jon commands, to which Rodrik keeps pace as Jon walks to the ramparts that overlook the town square to see his Battalion training, all five hundred men. Something which shocks Rodrik from the amazed look on his face. It was not heard off to train so many men at once.

“You see Rodrik, many of these men come from the true North. Some of the Gift, some Free Folk, let through the wall by Lord Commander Mormont. These people have had hated each other for generations, and yet they fight together. They know who the true enemy is, and they know that they will only survive if they work together. They fight for me because they know I have faced the enemy and lived to tell the tale.”

Rodrik nodded. It was obviously hard to take it all in. Jon didn’t believe until he saw it, and whilst this wasn’t a proper truth, it helped other believe it. “You know Jon, I had heard myths about that stuff before. I watched my father execute a wildling who crossed the wall spouting the same ideas. Are they truly coming?”

“Aye.” Jon looked darkly into the distance. “I don’t know exactly when, but soon, in the coming years. And we will need every hand we have.”

“House Forrester will stand behind House Stark as we always have.” Rodrik paused for a moment, just nodding, taking in a deep breath. “And I will stand behind you.”

Jon raised an eyebrow at the man. Jon could inspire common people, but he never had that talent with others.

“Jon, you’re fighting for a cause. Training and protecting the people. It’s a noble idea. Which means if you want more people to believe you, you are going to need noble people behind you.”

Jon smiled. “You believe me then?”

Rodrik sadly nodded before Jon. “Aye. I live further North than you, and I have heard dark tales of late. Anyway, you could do with a commander who was brought up in the way of a Lord. That way you may get some respect from the highborn families.”

“Aye, we could use a man like yourself. Of course, you’d get a room here, but I will say that it would be one smaller than you are used to.”

Rodrik smiled. “You do realise I was young once, like yourself. Me and my brother Asher rode out, camping under the stars and sleeping in small tavern rooms. I’m sure you and Robb did the same.” The man’s voice broke at Asher, Jon remembering how he was sent to Essos for loving the enemy, before regaining the same liveliness.

Jon just tilted his head quickly, causing the man to laugh. “I guess there is a sense of humour in there somewhere.” The man then sighed, a smile still on his face. “I’ll send a raven to my father to send all the available Ironwood here when I get to my room.”

“You might want to delay that to tomorrow, Robb has invited you to his Solar to extend his hospitality.”

Rodrik grinned once again, a truly happy man. “Ahhh, Robb. It’s been a few years since I saw him last, it would be nice to catch up. Will you be there?”

“Unfortunately, no. I have to drill the men tonight in low light combat.” Jon said, annoyance in his voice.

“Well, until tomorrow morning, Commander Snow.” Rodrik extended a hand towards Jon, which Jon took with his own, the two nodding to one another.  _Maybe there is hope after all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I thought about throwing Jon into the deep end, and throwing in the idea of a standing army into the world - which I have plans for in the future.
> 
> Hope you enjoy and feedback is always welcomed, and for updates, my tumblr is here:  
> https://nightflyerposts.tumblr.com/


	8. Daenerys I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dany visits a shop of mysteries, and a new warrior enters the fray.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Its been a hectic month. I really wanted to release these once a week but I've had approximately one evening of writing time a week. However, I am currently writing chapter 17 (I like to write far in advance in case I need to change a past event to make sure continuity works) and hopefully should have the next Jon chapter up within the week - though I can't promise anything, unfortunately.
> 
> Also, from this point onwards I am going to expand slightly with the POVs, but it will remain a largely Jon focused story. I would also want to let you guys know that whilst I have changed one element in the story, the plotline will remain somewhat similar to that of the show/books (i.e. nothing I can do could speed up Danys arrival or Tyrion crossing Essos) and whilst its taking a long time to get out of season 1, trust me the other seasons worth of material is sped right up.
> 
> I would also like to thank you guys for still reading even with my terrible chapter addition rate and I hope you guys enjoy.

When Dany arrived in the ‘city’ that was the Womb of the World, Vaes Dothrak, she thought little of it – just a place where a load of tents and caravans had sprung up. That was until she reached the marketplace. It reminded her of bazaars of old and the markets she used to run around as a child – some of the only fun Viserys had let her have really. She could smell the aromas from here. The spices from Qarth, Yi-Ti and the Summer Isles. She thought back to her days in Tyrosh, where they had the best markets in the Free Cities. As the smells hung in the air, she began to drift off of the main area, away from her protectors after she had allowed for Ser Jorah to do his own business.

She ended up in a place that felt familiar but not at the same time. The wares seemed of a place she hadn’t truly been – Westeros. The words inscribed on the items were in common tongue. There were books detailing the history of Westeros and everything that had happened, written by different Maesters – Archmaesters Gyldayn, Harmune, Marwyn and Samwell. Even the armour looked different to what she had seen. It looked warm and covered the entire body – obviously due to the temperature differences. Furs that looked so corse and tough yet was soft at the touch and plated armour she had only heard about from Ser Willem Darry - that of Westerosi knights. She was so engrossed she hadn’t noticed a man come out of the back.

“A Targaryen. I’d never thought I’d see one” said the man, in an accent that she had only truly heard in recent times – the accent of the North. He stood with his back hunched, faint auburn hair dripping down the side of his head and deep blue eyes staring towards her, an odd but comforting smile greeting her as she turned around. The man wore a cloak that almost looked like it was made of pure feathers that draped all over his thin but tall frame, leather armour seeming placed under his cape.

Dany decided to overlook the lack of manners of the man due to how wonderful the store was. “We are rare now. I must say, this might be the most wondrous place I have ever been. I have been reading about Westeros, has anything interesting happened recently?”

The man smiled. “Yes, there has. Why would you want to know?”

The merchant’s shortness was unwelcoming, to be honest, and he should have known better than to say that to a Khaleesi. “Westeros is still my home and I intend to return soon, and I would like to know what happens to my people, and I would suggest you lose that tone – you are speaking to the pregnant wife of Khal Drogo.”

The man smiled and nodded as if he was reminded of an old friend. “Fire and blood indeed” he muttered, before speaking louder. “Of course, Your Grace. There was talk of the Skirmish of the Wolves.”

“Would you elaborate?” she asked, with a puzzled look on her face.

“Jon Snow, bastard son of Eddard Stark rode out to slay the infamous bandit, the Mad Wolf,” he says as if it is something to be impressed by.

The bastard child of one of the Usurpers dogs? Why was he of any importance at all to Westeros? “You say this like this was a mad feat.”

“That’s because it was, your Grace. This Mad Wolf had nearly killed Ned Stark earlier in his life and scared off a force of five hundred men to be told. He had been inflicting pain on villagers for years, and nothing could be done to stop him – all word had been hushed up. If a Lord came after him, he would hide in the shadows. And this Jon Snow rode into the Wolfswood challenging him, with only twenty men and his own direwolf.” _A direwolf? I thought that they had gone extinct._ “It was said only a true wolf can beat the Mad Wolf, and this Jon Snow proved it, beating him with ease with his Valyrian steel sword _Protector_.”

Her mouth was wide open, shocked by it all. “How does a bastard come into the possession of a Valyrian steel sword?”

The merchant smiled at her. “This is where it gets interesting. They say he travelled to the Wall to join the Nights Watch, but in the end, he turned back. Be it for a lady or his family. But whilst he was there, he killed the man trying to assassinate the Nights Watch leadership. In return, he has been gifted a sword. Now the sword looks nothing like anyone alive has seen before, according to the stories, but it is so beautiful it must have been a treasure of Valyria. They say this sword has a power about it. It is indescribable apparently, but there is something about it.”

At that point she just nodded, her mind trying to make sense. “Well, it must have been a family heirloom surely, so how did it end up at the Nights Watch?”

The man looked down, a laugh eeking out as he stopped maintaining eye contact. “There is a Valyrian sword that belongs to the Watch – Longclaw. It was originally passed from the Lord Commander Jeor to his son but was returned after the son committed crimes against the North and that couldn’t be forgiven and he fled, leaving his sword behind.” But then his mood changed, becoming a tad lighter. “But his son is working on redeeming himself, and that is all that could be asked at this point. That sword was not the one that was given away, however. Its origin unknown – rumours fly about how it was from a Valyrian Lord who fell on the far side of the Wall and somehow ended up in the Watch’s hands. Others refuse to believe it and just think its standard steel, a rumour created to trick Northern enemies.” The man looked around and leaned closer. “But a very small number, and I mean maybe a dozen people at most, believe it is the lost Blackfyre.”

Dany’s eyes widened. Viserys had always lectured her on Blackfyre and how he would find it, restoring the honour to House Targaryen. She stopped believing in those fairytales many moons ago. “Impossible, surely that would be with the Golden Company or with a long lost descendant.”

The man shook his head. “Your knowledge might be good, but you have much to learn” he replied cryptically, yet with an almost impressed smug that gleamed off his face. “Many hands gripped that sword, but some assumed the sword to be cursed due to the bloodshed of Maegor the Cruel, for all the warriors that fought using it died horribly, and those who never touched it are remembered well. It is said only a true king or queen can right the wrongs of their ancestors and remove the curse.” The man leaned back, and Dany straightened her back, not realising how much she was wanting to learn more.

“Khaleesi” could be heard being called from the streets outside, probably Irri worrying about her.

The man smiled. “Go, Dany, your time will come, and you will have many people following you who can tell you all about the past. Believe me.” He winked and disappeared being the back of the tent.

“Thank you!” She called out as he walked out of the tent to find Irri, who looked relieved at finding her friend. Dany just smiled at her, and she could smell the scent of a good wine wafting through the market. “Come on, I am thirsty and that smell is out of this world.”

Whilst her mind might linger on this Jon Snow from time to time and she always thinks deeply about her past, she rarely gave another thought about the man who spoke to her like a long lost friend or the tent that disappeared like a wisp in the wind.

Like two little girls, they skipped over to the merchant, who smiled immediately when he noticed them. “Ahhh, Khaleesi.” The man bowed his head. “The gods grace me with your beauty today. I trust you would like to sample a wine?”

“I would, what do you have to offer?”

The man looked over his casks, muttering to himself. “Too good for any Dornish wine. Ahhh, yes, this would work.” The man turned towards Dany, holding out a cask of wine. “This is one of the smoothest Arbor reds, shown by the Redwyne sigil. Please, take it, free of price.”

Dany looked amazed that someone would offer her such a beautiful present. “You honour me, sir.”

She was about to grab the cask, when a paler hand was placed on the cask, with a paler man to match it. He was a young man, likely in his early twenties with a trimmed beard and messy brown hair. He had the same gruff look that Ser Jorah had, but seems to have a wilder temper to match his locks.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. I saw him place something in there before you got here.” The man sounded Northern in origin, with anger pouring through as well.

The man bitterly spoke. “You saw nothing, boy.”

The Northern man smiled. “Is that so, then why don’t you drink?”

“I am not a man worthy enough to drink this wine, it is only meant for the best,” said the merchant, not taking his eyes off of the man, and even Dany could see the anger being brewed between them. She was unsure how to proceed, but then Jorah calmly but quickly came in, obviously reading the situation, anger also filling his eyes.

“Khaleesi, let the man drink his own wine,” he said softly but strongly.

“Drink the wine.” She said coldly to the merchant. He began to pour himself a glass, smirking whilst doing so, raising it to his mouth before throwing it in her direction. Jorah managed to knock her towards Irri, catching her to protect the baby, whilst the Northern man tackled and tied up the would-be assassin.

“You will be taken to the Khal, and trust me, you will understand the words Fire and blood.” She turned kindly to her saviour. “Sir, you have saved my life, not knowing who I was, what is your name?”

“Asher of House Forrester, your Grace.”

_Ser Jorah, Asher, this Jon Snow. Maybe Northmen aren’t so bad after all._

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the shorter chapter - that'll be quite common for the Dany chapters - just to check in on the updates of where she is and how it is all going, although it wont be too common.
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed,  
> Nightflyer


	9. Jon VII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon's life follows that of his family, and for once a ray of good hits his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well.
> 
> Its been a while.
> 
> Work hits you hard, you write yourself into a tangled mess of a chapter and with a lot of change in life(multiple house moves) writing becomes that much harder. Did I want to this long to finish this chapter? God no. But I wanted to make sure I was comfortable with my story further on before releasing this part.
> 
> Even if I had 30k+ words and 10ish chapters saved up.
> 
> 2019 I made a resolution to finish this story and release the chapters. So expect regular updates of between 1-2 a week depending on how much work and free time I get.
> 
> I hope all of y'all are doing well and that your 2019 will be the best year!

“So, how’s Gendry?”

Jon and Arya finished practicing for the day. She was gripping onto the basics well – even changing her footwork to make it easier for her to attack. Now that was something Jon was impressed by – her feet moved as delicate as a dancer and with the ferocity of a python. Even so, she was his sister – and the whole point of siblings is to tease one another. Just the mention of Gendrys name widened her eyes, like when the wolves are caught with a corpse. It had been a couple months since he had arrived, but it seemed that was enough time for some affection to form, even for a younger one such as herself.

She just turned away from Jon, crossing her arms and huffing “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Really?” Jon chuckled whilst rolling his eyes. “From the amount of time you spend together, I’m sure you would know.”

Acting like a child, she just groans at Jon “Shut up.”

Jon, acting like an immature child, puts on a high pitch voice, folds his arms and huffs “ _Shut up._ ”

At which point she turns to Jon, staring him down.

Since she had arrived back, she had practiced something she had called the ‘Wolf Stare’ which is meant to intimidate opponents, a look that caused a flicker in her eyes. She had managed to get it to work on Bran and Rickon, with Rickon running into Jons arms telling him how Arya was going to kill him. Now that was an interesting night, having Rickon sleep in between Jon and Alayne, who kept making faces at him all night. Arya had even tried it on a few guards, some of whom had all flinched.

But Jon knew better than them. Crouching down to her level, he stared her back. “Go on then do your worse” Jon said confidently, calling her bluff.

She continued her stare, and when she raised her hands, Arya just wrapped her arms around Jons neck. “I love you, brother.”

Jons heart warmed substantially at that point, still basking when that word was used for him. “I love you too, sis.” He quietly said, ruffling her hair up. “Doesn’t mean I won’t tease you though.”

That earnt Jon a hit on his back, thanking himself that he decided to wear some padding for practice.

Still not letting go, Jon decided to give advice to his sister. “Arya, you do realise that it is normal to fall for people at your age.” She nodded. “And trust me, there’s a lot of worse guys out there. Just give it some time as friends to see how it all goes. You’re still young, maybe in a couple years when you’re older something might develop.”

She took herself back to look Jon in the eye, somewhat scared and curious. “A couple years?”

Jon just smirked back at his little sister. “Aye, a couple years. He needs to go through intense watching to make sure he is good enough for you. I’m sure Father would agree.” Jon said as he nodded.

She just laughed as Jon picked her up as he always did, carrying her back to her room, by which point she had already fallen asleep in his arms.

Placing her down on her bed, throwing the cover over her, Jon could only think _I wish it was that easy for me_. Since that night at the Wall all those moons ago, every night, the piercing blue eyes would appear in his dreams. And no matter what, it would always end with them. Except one night, when he was alone in the bed after Alayne had been called to help with a birth.

_He dreamt he was walking through grass up to his knees, swaying like waves would. As he walked through the grass, a path started to appear in front of him, and following it took him to a heart tree, where a beautiful lady sat with platinum hair, and a kind smile. “One day, Jon Snow.” His eyes catching her startling purple eyes._

_When he woke, he felt truly alone that morning._

Jon shook his head to get that weird and somewhat painful memory out of his mind.

He trudged towards his room, threw open the door and found a pleasant surprise. Laying on the bed in a short lace gown was Alayne. “Finally. I was about to fall asleep.”

They shared a laugh, as Jon turned to lock the door. _Guess I’ll be late to the meetings once again._

 

~~~~~#~~~~~

 

“So you’re telling me that your sister has a thing for the bastard blacksmith son of the King?” Alayne asked the next morning, half laying on his body, her head resting on his shoulder.

“Aye. It’s fucking weird.” Jon said annoyed. “I joked with her, but they’re too young for that nonsense.”

She raised her head to look at Jon, before Alayne placed it back in its original position.

Jon just sighed at the gesture. “What?”

Alayne just laughed. “You realise how hypocritical you sound, right? We were probably her age when we first met.” She proceeded to rise up out of bed, beginning to put on a dress so that she could go to her work.

Jon rose too, looking for his armour, which had been spread across the floor. “Aye, we were, and nothing happened till a few months ago.”

She slyly muttered under her breath “It’s not like I didn’t try to make it happen sooner.”

Jon stopped dead in his tracks, completely shocked by the statement with a sly smirk emerging upon his face. “When?”

She just rolled her eyes at him in a mirror as she combed her hair to try and make it look presentable. “Jon, you know what happens to all the men what happened to the men who have tried it with me, don’t you?” Jon just nodded, thinking about all the guys she had knocked out with a single hit. He had to admit, he found the fiery temper attractive.

“That was sign one. Another was the fact that I only ever danced with you, and that I would only attempt to look nice because of you.”

Still mostly undressed, he came behind her, wrapped his arms round her stomach, and slowly kissed up from her collarbone. “What could I do for forgiveness?”

Whilst flustered, she held all the cards in her hands, and she played them. “Get some clothes on and go do some work. I’m sure you also get tired of these four walls.”

And he did as his lady commanded.

 

~~~~~#~~~~~

 

Jon started his day as he did all his days – meeting with Robb as they walked around the castle walls to check in with one another and to make sure neither is slacking with their duties. Thankfully for Jon, Robb had become more comfortable in his role as Lord of Winterfell whilst Father was South, allowing for Jon to spend more time with his men. They spoke oft about the menial tasks that the other had to do. All the letter writing, meeting with the smallfolk and such. But then he asked Jon something that caught him off guard.

“So, how many men do you have again?” asked Robb, as if he knew the answer.

“Five hundred” Jon replied suspiciously.

“How many cavalrymen do you have?” Robb asked once again, in a similar manner as before.

“About one hundred light” Jon replied, taking note of Robbs head as he nodded, and almost breathed a sigh of relief. “Why?”

Robb just laughed nervously. “I’m your brother, I just wondered. Anyway, I have to go meet some petitioners about rebuilding a roof or something.”

He quickly left Jon on the ramparts overlooking the Wintertown, a smirk plastered across Robbs face. Jon stayed there for a moment, thinking of what Robb had asked. The one hundred light cavalrymen meant little in true combat. They were useful scouts for sure, and good at quick raids and strikes. But for a smash straight on? They would get destroyed by proper armour. Sighing, he turned to leave the ramparts to head to the town square for practice until he heard a horn sound out. Turning back around, slowly being surrounded by guards, it seemed a column of over hundred horses came riding to Winterfell. _Robb, what have you done now._ Jon quickly ran down to the courtyard, where his own guards had been waiting for him along with Rodrik and Ghost.

“What’s happening?” asked Rodrik, understandably looking confused.

“I’m not too sure, but it seems like we have some friendly support” Jon said happily.

The guards opened, and they galloped out to meet the men. Before, Ghost would’ve fallen behind massively but he had now grown to the size of a small pony, able to match their speed. As they rode through the town, people on the streets stopped to witness the ride of the horses towards the outskirts of the town. The men didn’t even flinch as the horses rode past them as they did individual drills, impressing Jon. Passing more people out on the streets, they found a crowd forming ahead of them, causing them to slow the pace to a trot. Noticing Jon and his men, the crowd parted allowing for them to pass through to see the horsemen.

Looking through the crowd he spotted sigils from many different houses. He saw many Manderlys, Karstarks, Umbers, Boltons and Mormonts. He felt a weird sense of pride when noticing the Mormont sigil – be it because of his connection to Jeor or be it the fact that he had been honoured by such a proud house he was not sure. Looking through, he even managed to spot some other sigils: Glovers, Dustins, Ryswells, Hornwoods and Cerwyns.

Jon looked around to spot a familiar face in the crowd. Jon leapt off his steed and strode towards a tall and slim man in the middle of the crowd. As Jon caught the man’s eye, he opened his arms for a welcome hug, which the man embraced before retracting.

“Cley, it’s good to see you, what is all of this?” Jon said enthusiastically

Cley smiled slyly. “Your brother sent us ravens that we should meet at Castle Cerwyn and make our way North to combine with your forces. He seemed to believe that you were putting together an elite force – and we were the ones selected by our Lords to go. Except me, I came by choice.” His smile getting even larger.

_Well that makes sense now._ Robb had always tried to help Jon, and now he had done him a great service. He took his mind away from his brother, thinking about the man to his side. “Cley, this is Rodrik of House Forrester, my chief lieutenant.” Jory had returned to being the duties of Captain of the Guard, and Rodrik had proved himself over the last couple months.

The two men nodded at each other as they shook the others hand. They were both of smaller houses, so they were understandably proud to be working for a Stark directly, even if it was a bastard.

Cley then darkened his look, turning towards Jon. “Jon. Rodrik. I would like to introduce Ramsay Snow, son of Roose Bolton.”

Before them stood a pale man, with pale blue eyes and a sharp but conniving smile. Jon remembered hearing stories about Ramsay when he was younger. A dark and lost child taken in by his father, Roose Bolton, when his mother had complained that he had been unruly. When he was taken in, he had been disciplined by Roose and only defended by his half-brother Domeric Bolton after coming back from being fostered in the Barrowlands and the Vale. From that day forward, he had been incredibly loyal to his brother, doing unspeakable things to those who spoke against him. _This must be a way at getting rid of the crazed boy._ There had also been rumours of the information network he had formed – making something useful out of his sadistic tendencies.

Jon spoke up first, raising out a hand towards the man. “Nice of you to join us.”

Ramsay looked coldly back, but shook Jon’s hand anyway. “Thought it would be nice to meet another bastard.”

Jon thought back to Tyrion’s words and laughed. “Aye, and now you can see how good we can get.” It seemed the use of ‘we’ was a smart move for Jon, as it seemed to make Ramsay honestly smile.

Ramsay and Rodrik shook hands as a normal pleasantry, but even Jon could tell how uncomfortable Rodrik was around Ramsay.

Jon turned back to Cley. “So what be your numbers?”

Cley just smiled at Jon. “Two hundred fully armoured and equipped cavalrymen, not including Ramsay.”

Jon gave a glance to Ramsay, who rolled his eyes at it. “I’m much better with a bow and a hunting knife.” Unexpectedly, Ghost, who had been sitting at Jon’s side, padded over to Ramsay, sniffing him. Ramsay responded by placing a hand on the wolfs head. “You’re bigger than any dog I’ve seen before.”

Jon could help but show a gobsmacked look on his face. There was obviously something about Ramsay that was good, as Ghost only approached people for one reason – to judge them. If he deemed them good, he’d let them be. If otherwise, there was dire consequences. _Maybe Ramsay will be alright._

Jon once again shook himself out of his partial brooding, turning to his fellow Bastard. “Ramsay, if you don’t mind going over to the archers. Currently Alyn is the guard over there. He will set you up.”

Ramsay nodded, picking up his gear, moving over towards where the archers had their targets set up. Jon turned back to Cley, who looked thankful to not have to deal with Ramsay any more.

“So, two hundred men, what is the composition?”

Cley smiled, showing he knew. “Sixty from House Manderly. Thirty from the House Karstark. Twenty from the Houses Umber, Bolton and Mormont. Ten from the Houses Glover, Hornwood, Cerwyn, Ryswell and Dustin.”

Out of all the Houses, House Dustin surprised Jon as the Lady of Barrowton had a grand grudge against House Stark, so sending any men his way was a complete shock.

“So, what should we do Jon?” asked Cley.

Jon thought for a moment. Most of the men looked green and untested. However, whilst was a good rider, he hadn’t picked up the fighting ability on a horse. He looked over to his men and spotted Harwin, one of their best riders, and called him over.

“Harwin, I would like you to gather the ten best cavalrymen in Winterfell to help train this lot, do you think you can handle that?” Jon said jovially, a trait unusual for Jon.

“Aye Jon I can.” The man laughed as he proceeded to ride towards the gate back to the castle.

 

~~~~~#~~~~~

 

Some time had passed before Harwin had come back from his mission, and he arrived with nine others. He scanned through to see each man, all notable and worthy choices, complete in armour. Then Jon spotted a familiar set of armour. As the rider approached, his suspicions were confirmed.

“Robb, what are you doing?” Jon asked.

“You asked Harwin for the best cavalrymen, and I am one of them.” Jon just rolled his eyes at his brother’s humility, causing Robb to laugh. “Come on, you might think you’re a better rider, but when it comes to fighting horseback and using any lance, it has been established that I am the best in the castle.”

Jon just nodded. It was true. The only reason why Robb has never won a tourney is because he doesn’t see the need to participate. And Robbs manoeuvrability in a saddle was comparable to that of a Dothraki Screamer. Probably.

Then a thought came into Jon’s mind. “Wait, who is dealing with the running of the castle and meeting petitioners?”

Robb just gave Jon a smug look that Jon wanted to hit off his face.

“Seriously Robb, you want me to go in there and talk to people?” Jon asked, annoyed at his brothers idea.

Robb just laughed like he always had at Jon when he got annoyed, apparently to the stupid faces Jon made when annoyed. “You can’t expect me to allow you to have all the fun out here? Trust me it’s not that bad.”

Jon huffed as a response. “I’ll go, just go hard and whip them into shape alright – you’re too nice with the guards.”

Robb smiled and nodded. “Yes, Commander Snow.”

Jon grabbed the reins and threw himself onto his horse to ride back to the castle with Ghost at his side, spotting the men sound at work. Cley and Robb working on improving the cavalry, Ramsay giving tips to the archers and Rodrik drilling the men making sure the positioning is right.

_Now this is what you call a battalion._

 

~~~~~#~~~~~

 

Jon had been sat in the same chair for what seemed to be hours listening to petitioners asking for either building help, farm labourers or money. If Jon was able to offer something, he would. He discussed every decision with Maester Luwin, who gave him sound and swift advice, letting him know whether they had the resources to proceed. And Jon found it hard to turn some people who had desperate needs away with not enough. And in that moment, he found an even greater respect for Robb and what he had to do and say on a regular basis. It probably helped Robb that he was better with the use of words than Jon as it felt that everything that came out was as blunt as an old hammer.

As soon as everyone left, Jon crossed his arms and let his head fall onto his arms on the desk, causing Maester Luwin to laugh, patting Jon on the back.

“Don’t worry Jon, your father had a similar reaction when he first did it.”

Jon raised himself from the desk to find the kind eyes of the Maester looking down towards him, giving him a fond smile.

“Honestly?”

“Yes my boy” the Maester replied. “He was the second son, never truly taught how to deal with the smallfolk like his brother Brandon, who had always been the more popular and talkative one.” The man paused at what seemed a painful memory before turning back to Jon. “Sometimes those who are unsure of themselves are better off because they know to ask. You did well today Jon.”

Jon nodded, smiling at the older man. “Thank you, for everything.”

The Maester smiled kindly back. “I’m the Maester, you need not thank me.”

Jon grinned back. “It doesn’t matter Maester, you do a lot of good for us all, you deserve some thanks.”

The old man just laughed. “You have a good heart Jon, remember that.” As he went to go towards the exit for his quarters, he turned back to Jon. “Go see your family, from my guess they’ll be in the Godswood.”

Following the Maesters advice, he headed towards the Godswood, whistling to Ghost to follow him picking up Blackfyre from the seat he had placed it on.

 

~~~~~#~~~~~

 

Jon and Ghost quietly entered the Godswood to find Robb sitting on the stump of a tree in front of the pond, tending to his sword with a whetstone as Grey Wind lay passively next to him, like Father always used to do. Bran sat next to him, his hand placed on the Weirwood, as if connected to it. Summer stood almost protectively in front of the boy. Arya was showing Rickon some moves, using sticks as pretend swords like Jon and Robb had done when they were younger. Jon couldn’t spot the two direwolves, but heard piles of leaves and growls coming from a different area of the Godswood, meaning that Nymeria and Shaggydog were playing. As Ghost ran to join his siblings, Jon finally noticed that Ghost was the largest of siblings, which Jon found amusing considering that he was originally the runt of the litter.

As soon as Arya and Rickon spotted him, Arya looked toward her older brother and smiled – allowing Rickon to hit her over the head, which caused Jon to chuckle. As Jon turned away from them the training turned into a standard childish fight. Jon strode towards Robb, who seemed to be brooding, oblivious to what was happening around him.

“Robb?” Jon asked, his face trying to mask his worry.

Robb immediately looked up with a vacant smile. _I know that smile too brother._ “Jon, didn’t realise you had come in. Assume Luwin sent you?”

Jon smiled, replying “Yeah, he said I’d find you all hear. You got another whetstone? The sword could do with more sharpening.”

Robb picked something up next to him and chucked it towards Jon, who caught it mid-air. He proceeded to lean back against the Weirwood, holding his head up as he used the whetstone silently on Blackfyre, thinking about his life. He was an accident, born to no lands in the world and here he was commanding men, being called Lord by some. He thought to the fact that he could still have all this; a noble upbringing and a mostly loving family, and love a common girl. It had been a long day, and slowly, Jon reclined his head back onto the tree.

His vision flashed before him. He sees a three eyed raven caw at him, in too much of a familiar fashion. A flash causes him to be back with an old dream, walking through a field of long grass with the purple eyed lady once more. A painful flash dragged him away from that to a child with his black hair and the ladies purple eyes running towards him. Picking her up, she threw her arms around Jon like Arya always did. Then the flash to his ongoing nightmare – bright blue eyes staring him down, the cold all around him, his strength failing him. But before it overwhelmed him, a light appeared and a new world was before him. But the world was not new but old. A Winterfell that laid, snow building up on the ground. Three boys took it in turns to spar with one another in the centre of the courtyard, and a girl appeared on horseback, throwing insults down at what must have been her brothers by how similar they looked. She had a striking resemblance to Arya, maybe a little more delicate and beautiful, but powerful all the same. He looked across the courtyard to see a boy standing, long auburn hair flowing down, and as Jon stepped towards him, the ground gave out beneath him. He jutted forward, looking around. No time had passed. Everyone was where they originally were. He turned to see Bran lean back from the tree, taking a deep breath.

Turning to his brother, Jon was breathing so hard that he wasn’t able to get a word out, but his face was able to present what he needed to ask. _How?_

Bran gulped. “I’m getting taught slowly, I think. I’m only allowed to delve in once every few days, and I often don’t truly get what I see, if I even see anything.”

Jon felt shocked, pulling back. “Getting taught? Who teaches you?”

“The Three-Eyed- Raven. I think. It’s hard, trying not to get lost.” Bran sounded too sad for a child.

Jon placed a hand on the top of his head to ruffle Brans hair as he knelt down to hug him. “You’re with family, you’ll never be lost.”

Bran just nodded, still looking sad – like he already knew the future. “I know.”

Jon looked around to see Arya and Rickon tiring as they played, and after noticing the bags under Brans eyes, he made a decision. “Arya, take Bran and Rickon to bed please.”

“But Jon…” She tried to give him a pout and it took him everything to stand against it.

“Arya. I’m serious.” Jon commanded.

Arya looked down, grabbing Rickon by the hand as to get help to push Bran out of the Godswood once more, with a guard helping them once they got into the castle. Once they left, Jon turned to Robb, who was still sharpening his sword, staring into the pond as if it could show him a different world.

Jon sat down next to him and did the same, and they continued silently for a while before Jon got worried. “Copper for your thoughts?”

“It was my fault Jon” Robb admitted sadly, a tear dripping from his eye. “She is dead because of me.”

Jon placed Blackfyre down and moved nearer to his brother, concerned about the bright heroic man he knew Robb to be. “Robb, she is not dead because of you. She is dead because of some fucking assassin.”

Robb threw down his sword. “You don’t understand.”

Jon, thinking back to when he had first heard the news, answered “Then let me.”

Robb sighed like Jon had many a time. “A diversion was set to set the library on fire, and an attack was set for Bran. I ran off to help, leaving her alone. I let her die.”

Jon was angry at the fact his brother thought that way. “Robb, you did the right thing, going to try and help other people. There was no way you could’ve known that she was going to die. And what are you going to do against a Valyrian steel knife? You would just die along with her. Is that really good for anyone in the family? And do you really think that Catelyn would’ve thought that you were in the wrong?” Jon put his arm round his brother. “You’re not going to realise straight away, but you’ll come around. And I can tell you already that you’ve made her proud.”

“Proud.” He lets out a bitter chuckle. “What would she possibly be proud of me for? You ride off killing the dead, defeating bandits and raising armies. I sit on my ass all day listening and going to meetings.”

Jon nods. “Aye, that’s true. But we have the cavalry cos of you. We have extra men, because of you. Every Lord stands behind you for a reason Robb – they see the great Lord that is inside you. You talk with your people and you treat their problems like their own, and they love you like their own. You can’t even imagine the amount of times that the smallfolk have asked after you whenever I pass down the streets. You look after Rickon and Bran and Arya when every other Lord would pass them to their servants. You sit and eat with us instead of all the Lordlings that go out to brothels. Family. Duty. Honour. How many times did she say that? More than I can count that’s for sure.”

Robb, as witty as ever, decided to interject. “So what, maybe seven or eight times?”

That caused a smack from Jon before he put his arm back around Robb. “You followed those words, and you make everyone in this castle feel happy knowing what kind of Lord they have.”

Robb nodded, and Jon could see the tears that fell down Robbs cheeks, obviously a tough memory even after all those months, and all these emotions were putting a strain on him. After a couple moments, Jon even heard Robb chuckling. “I’m pretty sure this is supposed to be the other way round.”

“I’m your brother, and Father always said that I’d be your bannerman and help you bring the North to better standards. And that means you need to be you, so I will be here for that as well. You’re already on your way there, and throughout the issues I had with her, I can tell you with certainty that your Mother would be so proud” Jon said comfortingly.

Robb smiled once again, as if he was filled with a more happy memory. “Gods, after all those times I had to convince you that Father loved you, I would’ve never thought you would have to do something similar for me with my Mother.”

Jon just buried his head in his hands, embarrassed by those outbursts. “Don’t ever remind me of those times.”

That caused Robb to laugh once more, and they shared a knowing look once things quieted down. Robb would have doubts in the future, and Jon would step in. Always. Because that’s what brothers did.

 

~~~~~#~~~~~

 

Months had passed, and everything had gone as Jon had hoped. He had worked on getting Robb out of his mood, making him talking to other people such as Maester Luwin who could advise him better on how to deal with all the issues than Jon. Soon Robb was loving his work and playing with the siblings once again, pretending to fight Arya and Rickon and even teaching them when Jon had earnt a night off. Robb recognised that Catelyn would’ve thought he had done what was right and decided to follow the Tully words to honour her. _Family, Duty, Honor_. In that order. And Robb was true to himself - he followed it to the word. It gave Robb happiness and purpose, and that is what is needed most.

Arya and Gendry had become closer, but still acted as friends, Gendry as oblivious Jon had been at his age. _One day it might work out._ It was hard not seeing it working out as eventually, Arya would have her way with the boy at some point. She had also become more proficient with the blade, even if it was hard to teach as she stubbornly used her left hand. She was able to take on the other boys her age and win using her agility and finesse to truly beat her opponent like she should. But with Needle, she had to practice in a different fashion, and through Robb and Father, it had been agreed that she would get a proper teacher, so Father had contacted one of the best slim-swordsman around, Syrio Forel – a previous First Sword of Braavos.

Bran had even become more human like he was before when the two Reed kids – Meera and Jojen – had turned up. Jojen was apparently had the mythical power of greensight, allowing him to have prophetical dreams which gave Bran a friend who suffered the same powers who could share similar stories.

And Rickon was proving himself to be a scary, albeit brutal fighter even from a young age. It had seemed that the same strength Jon had gained from Ghost, Rickon had gained from Shaggydog. He was able to beat boys years older than him – his quickness and power rivalled Jon at that age. But where Jon showed kindness and mercy to opponents, Rickon showed nothing. Rickon was slowly learning kindness, but it seemed some of the Wildness in him would never leave.

The newly nicknamed ‘Wolf Pack’ had become the best fighting force in Westeros by Jon’s guess, even if they were unproven. They had even had more men added to their force, totalling the force to one-thousand-two-hundred men, a force larger than some sellsword companies in Essos. The men were getting drilled harder and harder, lowering the margin for mistake. Robb and Cley would share duties for training cavalry, Ramsay had taken control of the archers, whipping them into shape with his stern teaching and harsh reputation, and Rodrik Forrester, Jory and Jon would take turns drilling the infantry, making sure the strongest held shields in a turtle formation and that men were proficient with both spear and sword. And whilst they weren’t on the same level as the Unsullied, Jon doubted he would ever have to face them, so took them as the best rounded force in the country.

All the work during the day had left both him and Robb tired, often collapsing in their beds when they got back from their duties, which occasionally had left petiotioners not seeing a senior member of the Stark family. Thankfully, Alayne, would take in their complaints from those who worked in the castle to allow Jon and Robb to deal with it when they woke up over their morning meal. One of the many reasons why Jon was falling for her.

But life was never that simple. Once again, a raven would throw his world into chaos.

Dark wings, dark words.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I still have tumblr from previous chapters if you want to follow on there, and also twitter which is now just a regular twitter account after I lost my old account.


	10. Jon VIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Starks struggle with what is in the letter as Robb comes to grip with command at his young age.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, been a little longer than a week but considering I was gone for months last time I'd say that this was better. 
> 
> I wanted to release earlier, but I was struggling with a future chapter (one way down the line) and every time I looked at my doc I just go discouraged - but I can now say it is done and I quite like it at the moment so I can now proceed on with the story at hand.
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy!!

A knock had banged on the door to Jons room, stirring him from his needed sleep after a long day. Groaning, he climbed out of his bed, gently placing the grip of the lovely Alayne onto a pillow as he grouchily strolled towards the door, stepping over the ball of white fluff that laid before the burnt out fire, which took up much of the space inside the cosy room. He slowly unbolted the door to find a shaken Jory stood outside his door, peering behind him down the corridor in each direction, his hand writhing around the pommel on his sword, something which put Jon off-kilter.

“Jon, you have to come now, its urgent.” Whilst Jory spoke quietly and calmly, there was a touch of shakiness in his voice which was never present – even in the most turbulent and treacherous at times.

Jon nodded, grabbing his leathers and Blackfyre, removing the pillow on the bed allowing Ghost to take his space to keep her warm, noticing that she clung to Ghosts fur as if it was his own curls.

Together, Jory and Jon proceeded towards the Lords Quarters where two guards, Alyn and Hallis, stood outside warily, both steely watching with the bags under their eyes. As the two men enter, it seems they are the final men that would turn up that night. Maester Luwin was slumped in the chair, staring into the floor in front of him. Harwin was leaned against the wall, staring into the nothingness in front of him – not even able to make a smartass comment. Ser Rodrik had his fist scrunched up and placed on the table over a couple pieces of parchment, and Jon could even see his cogs working. And then there was Robb, who stood at the balcony, staring into the stars, his grip so tight his knuckles looked extra pale in the moonlight.

When the men inside noticed Jory and Jon come in, they all stood up staring at Jon, hoping he had an answer. Ser Rodrik proceeded to unclench his fist and pick up the parchments, passing it to Jon. One bore the Stag in the fiery Heart, the sign of Stannis Baratheon.

 

_Castellan of Winterfell,_

_Your Lord, Eddard of House Stark, has given me information that the children of Queen Cersei of the House Lannister are not heirs as they were fathered by her brother, Ser Jaime of the House Lannister. I do not have proof, but your Lord has sworn to me that he does, and I hope that he makes a full recovery from the fight with Ser Jaime over the disappearance of Tyrion Lannister. Bow to me, and let us end the tyranny that will be endured under the rule of bastard Joffrey._

_Done in the Light of the Lord, under the sign and seal of Stannis of House Baratheon, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar_ _, and the First Men_ _, and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms._

 

Jons mind worked overtime to think of what he had just read? Could the Prince truly not be of the King? It was true that there was very small resemblance, in both personality and looks. Could his Father truly have been injured? And what has happened to Tyrion? Could Father have truly uncovered this? And would he try to help out the brother of the man he had once fought side by side with? The other bore a royal seal of the Stag and the Lion – the sign of Prince Joffrey. Jon began to unfurl it fully to read it.

 

_Castellan of Winterfell,_

_Your Lord, Eddard of House Stark, had spread treasonous slander about my birth after the death of my Father King Robert of the House Baratheon, First of His Name, and had tried to usurp the throne for a pretender. For this he is imprisoned, and once you come to the capital and bend the knee, he will be released to join the Nights Watch._

_King_ _Joffrey of House Baratheon, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar_ _, and the First Men_ _, and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms._

Jon thought for a moment, looking towards his brother who had turned back from the balcony, now staring at the table in front of him. A map of the Seven Kingdoms had been laid in front on the table, held down in each of the corners, only map markers missing to making the meeting a war council. Everyone had continued to be silent as Jon read the notes, and it seemed as if Jon would be the first to speak.

“So, what are we going to do?” Jon asked, not knowing what to do with such a grand conflict ahead of him. He was able to manipulate the environment around him, but he was never trained in strategy, diplomacy and tactics the same way Robb had been. Jon felt out of his depth as if he had a million questions that required answers that he would likely never get.

Robb sighed at the board, looking towards the different areas on the table around him – his eyes darting to the strongholds of each region, using his hands to keep quick totals of men. He looked up to grab the attention of the people around, showing off his lordly aura. “Harwin, go grab the map markers – all that we have. We’re going to need them.” He turned his body towards the Captain of the Guards. “Jory, I need you to grab Forrester and Cerwyn – they will prove useful.”

Jon thought back to what he knew of Ramsay, and the rumoured information network he had, so spoke up before Jory left. “Robb, I believe Ramsay may be valuable with what you’re planning, I say that you get him up too.”

Robb didn’t even need to look at Jon, just trusting Jons judgement as if it were his own. Another thing that Jon loved about his brother. Robb nodded, still staring at the map.

Little was spoken off by the time that the men had appeared with a council now having multiple representatives of the kingdom. Jon spoke with Luwin about what victory they could achieve in a military campaign, and what allies could be called upon from outside the North. The Riverlands and the Vale all seemed strong possibilities, doubting any other powers would join their side. The Baratheons would have their own conflicts, Dorne would stay out of it leaving only the Reach to be swayed. Jon removed the idea of that alliance as the distance between the two kingdoms allowed for messengers and ravens to have a higher chance of interception. Ser Rodrik mainly discussed with Robb the numbers of men that the North could muster in a short time, something they both worried about.

As Jory staggered in after Harwin had managed to locate the markers, Robb began placing them over the large map on the table. The first difficulty would be winning the respect of the men he was to command as many had experienced wars beforehand and whilst stubbornly loyal to their Father, it could not yet be said for Robb. The markers showed the largest contributors – the Manderlys, the Umbers, the Karstarks and the Boltons. Winterfell could also bring in a lot of men its own, but Jon knew the limits. Armies needed to be fed, and without food from the South there was going to be large harvests needed requiring many people to get involved.

With Robbs arms spread across the edge of the table, holding him up, he sighed. “Thirty-five thousand. That’s the total we would be able to muster to take south on short notice – and that’s with total agreement with all the houses.”

Ramsay then spoke out of turn as usual. “Thirty thousand, my lord.”

Everyone turned gobsmacked to the bastard in front of them, Robb being the first to question him. “What do you mean? I have spoken with my advisors about what men I could take South.”

Ramsay just shook his head. “You will need a garrison of five-thousand more, believe me.”

Robb sighed as the rest stayed silent. Jon thought over what the two bastards had spoken about before, and nothing came up. Jon allowed Ramsay to dip the waters to see if they was any talk of war, but nothing of importance ever came up.

“For belief, you must elaborate.” Robb commanded.

Ramsay cleared his throat. “I have my ways, my lord. I have noticed certain ships sailing into Northern ports, trading the bare minimum as not to seem suspicious and then sailing onto the next port. Eventually, I caught some in a tavern, and let's say they didn’t enquire when one went missing.” Everyone shifted in their seats uncomfortably, a couple gulping with worry. “I brought him back to my Father and he started to talk about checking defences for the ports and castles. We left the man in the cell and the next thing we found was him dead, impaled on the sharpest object near him – nasty way to go. The object was a small knife with a Kraken sigil from his boot, we think. If anything can be taken from this, the Iron Islands is biding their time, waiting for the moment when the North is at its weakest so they can attack.”

That moment shook everyone in the room. They had reaved and raped the Northern coastline for generations, but no-one suspecting them due to their military capabilities being demolished during the previous Greyjoy Rebellion. Robb looked sceptical at the man in front of him. “They were obliterated, surely they would’ve been watched?”

Ramsay responded with the demented laugh he owned. “They were brought back in the fold years ago thanks to the Baratheons, and they remember the attack on Pyke, which killed all the male heirs to Balon Greyjoy. Even little Theon was killed in the destruction, and that is something he had never forgot. He has probably brought them to a power not seen in generations, all under our noses. The march south will make us vulnerable, but we can repel them with a strong force that they wouldn’t expect.”

Robb sighed, slumping into his seat, obviously struggling with the new information given to him by a source that he obviously didn’t trust. Jon was also unsure about what had been proposed, but as the brother to the Lord of Winterfell, it was his duty to advise Robb.

“It can’t hurt to hold some men back,” Jon said from his leant back position, now holding the attention of all the veteran men in the room. “The Greyjoys aren’t the only enemies we have. The Wildlings still have a force building, ready to strike South and destroy whatever stands in their way. Five thousand could go a long way to prevent that and a potential Greyjoy invasion.”

The men looked at one another. What Jon said had made sense. A terrible surge in his stomach had swelled up just thinking about how Jon had agreed with Ramsay, knowing how he had got his information. _War was war, and it turned great men to do worse feats for victory – and if this meant winning, then that was going to be what I will do._

Robb nodded, allowing that to form in his mind. He placed a wolf marker in Winterfell and placed the rest at Moat Cailin. Turning to Ser Rodrick and Maester Luwin, in his most commanding tone, he sounded the start of full-scale warfare. “Call the banners.”

 

~~~~~#~~~~~

 

For the next few days, Jon spent as much time with his family as he possibly could. He trained with Bran and Rickon with the bow and even started refining Rickons sword movement and stances. He sparred with Arya for as long as he could, letting Syrio take a break from the demanding student that she was. They would train for what would seem hours, teaching her all the dirty tactics he knew that she could use to her advantage. He would drag Robb away from planning to train with them, just so he wouldn’t get rusty from a lack of practicing. He even dragged out Alayne from doing her job just to spend time with her. He knew everything was about to change, and he would be an idiot not to savour it all.

On the final night before the first men were to arrive, they all sat down together. One final meal before it all changes. Just the kids with Robb and Jon. There was laughter and stories with insults jokingly being thrown between everyone. It was something he would forever cherish.

“You know that I would’ve been able to beat you with a sword” Bran proclaimed to his older sister, who rolled her eyes at the comment.

“Of course you would. Just like how you were able to beat me with a bow?” Arya shot back, staring her little brother down, causing everyone at the table to laugh.

As everyone calmed down, they all looked at each other and the mood changed. They had finished their meal at least an hour ago, yet none of them were willing to leave. 

“Do you have to go?” Rickon innocently asked.

Robb and Jon just shared a short glance, and Robb took the lead. “Yes. We have to save Father and Sansa from the Lannisters.”

“But Tyrion is a good Lannister. Can’t he help?” Bran asked, hopefully.

That just caused Jon to look down, disappointed in himself. He had felt annoyed at Tyrion for leaving without announcing – but they had never bothered to check his whereabouts, they just assumed. Tyrion being kidnapped led to this, and they might have been able to stop this had Jon been a better friend. “I wouldn’t put faith in that. Family comes first, and he wouldn’t betray them quickly. He still has immense love for his brother and he wouldn’t leave that behind.”

The three kids nodded sadly, all looking down towards their empty plates.

Arya looked up first, tears welling in her eyes. “So this is it isn’t it? You did this as you might not see us before you leave.”

Robb and Jon shared a guilty look with one another before Robb turned to her. “Yes. I will be busy with all the Lords, and Jon will be busy with all of the soldiers.”

Rickon leapt out of his chair and ran into Robbs arms as Arya did the same to Jon. As the tears began to flow, Robb and Jon picked up the little ones so they could gather round Bran, who couldn’t move to them.

They all huddled together, as close as they could be.

Arya was the only one to speak up. “Promise me you’ll come back. Both of you.”

Jon knew it would be the hardest promise to keep. And the thought of it all terrified him.

“I promise” Robb whispered, just so Jon didn’t have to. “For the both of us, I promise we will return.”

 

~~~~~#~~~~~

 

The men began to pour in from Wintertown and the countryside directly owned by the Starks, proceeding to arm themselves with whatever they had – be it pikes made from hoes, polearms or even swords passed down through generations. Those who had arrived from the Wolfswood often brought their hunting bows and were placed into their own groups. And Jon finally began to understand why the North should be feared. The loyalty these men showed to the Starks was surely unmatched by any other Lord in the Seven Kingdoms, and after talking with many men he found why. His Father had toured around every little village and hamlet meeting every single person that might fight for him, and he pledged to protect all of them from what might do them harm.

Fortunately, most of the housing had been empty, as most lived in Wintertown during Winter to survive the harsh storms, rather than try to brave it in the Wilderness. Men stayed in there, and then more and more joined them. First, the Cerwyns arrived – being the closest allies. Then the Umbers, Karstarks and Boltons joining them, cramming into the housing and spilling tents into the nearby area as they wait for the final reinforcements from the Mormonts and Flints – the furthest flung vassals and from the Manderlys who easily contributed the most to the forces. The Lords all gathered in the Great Hall, waiting for orders for march order, what tactics would be used and how the soldiers would be supplied. Jon turned up last after he got carried away drilling some of the new recruits in the Stark forces.

Jon was thankful that the Lords had mostly settled in as when they arrived, they had all tested Robb in different ways to try and gain supreme command. Lord Karstark had stepped a foot toward Robb, so he matched the older man, gaining his respect. He stared down Lord Boltons pale and terrifying eyes, earning at least his respect. The only one who repeatedly bothered Robb was the Greatjon.

Jon’s thoughts broke as he strode into the room, he found everyone sitting around a large table formed from smaller ones with the largest map he had ever seen spread across it, seeing markers having to be placed using long rods with flat edges. He noticed a free chair to the right of his brother, purposefully left for Jon. He and Robb had discussed the fact the Jon would’ve rather had one of the highborn officers sit there to represent the Wolf Pack as not to offend the other lords, but Robb would not have it. He would show his strength through unity through all people.

As Jon went to sit down, he could feel the eyes of the Lords boring into him as the tension in the room began to build. Thankfully Robb was in the middle of talking so was able to avoid most of the attention, allowing Jon to look around, spotting Ghost plod in through the door behind them, joining Grey Wind who was laying in front of the great fire. Jon then brought his attention back to the task ahead of them, looking at the markers that lay on the table, noticing that Robb was fiddling with the Umber marker, rolling it in his hands.

The Greatjon had barely been there a week and he had already been testing everyone’s patience. He had been arguing with other Lords from south of Winterfell, calling them “Southern Cunts” as well as pestering Robb to march south without the support of the Manderlys and that they would catch up if they actually wanted to fight. But Jon knew they had to stay on his good side, no matter how much Jon wanted to lop his giant head off of him. He had a Northern Bloc of Lords that followed his lead as he was more dominant in the region and Robb didn’t have the command over them that their Father would’ve normally had. The Northern idea flows through respect, something with Robb hadn’t earnt. Yet.

Eventually, Robb began to come to a close of what he was saying after listing how the men were going to be organised on the way there and in battle. “Once, the Manderlys turn up I can finalise the plans for the most part.” Robb sighed as if he had got to the hardest part. “And I have finalised the order for the march south, which will be fully enforced. The Cerwyns and Flints will be the rear guard throughout staying with the caravans and dealing with any bandits that might try their luck. The middle of the force will be put under three commanders – Lord Roose Bolton, Lady Maege Mormont and Lord Rickard Karstark who is at the disposal to organise their sections as they wish with authorisation from myself.”

Robb had asserted himself more and more since the raven about their Father had arrived, and it seemed that it had weighed on him heavily. The childish swagger he had was lost, replaced by and an unusually aged calm demeanour.

Jon looked over the Lords to see their reactions, the Cerwyns looked thankful for the responsibility, even if it was the worst one. The Karstarks looked chuffed with themselves as Ned had often looked over them due to their harsher attitudes and traditions. And even the Umbers looked smug, like they knew only one position was left, and it was the one of highest honour.

But Robb had slight smug grin of his own, one that Jon was likely to notice, and it put fear into Jon. His brother was calculating above much else, and Jon knew that whenever that look was plastered on his face, Robb was taking a calculated risk. “And for the Vanguard, I have placed Jon Snow in command with the Wolf Pack.”

Jon was sure that he was saying more, but no-one could hear him over the nonsensical rubbish that the Lords were spewing at one another. Eventually, after many had argued and shouted Robb had stood firm glaring at all of them as Grey Wind began to snarl, so they began to back down. All except the biggest man in the room with the most broken ego. Not even a commanding responsibility was a massive slight to the Lord who was leading thousands of valuable men south.

He stood up, pushing an entire bench full of people behind him. As he angrily marched towards Robb, Jon could see the redness in his face from both anger and embarrassment from being beneath a bastard. But every step towards Robb saw a growling Grey Wind sink closer and closer to Robbs side, his head placed below Robbs closed fist.

“The Gods damn you, boy.” The large man bellowed. “For generations the Umbers have stood by House Stark, and this is how you replace us? With some fucking bastard?”

Robb took his own steps towards the man. “I reward loyalty and intelligence, not a lack of obedience. Something which my Brother shows tenfold what you show now, thrashing around insulting other Lords as if you’re better than them.”

The silence was deafening. Jon wanted to drag his brother aside and convince him to listen to the Umbers. The Vanguard was a huge responsibility that he shouldn’t have command of. He might be alright with a sword, but a commander required a mind cultivated for strategy, something which Jon had not grown at that point.

For a moment, Jon had not noticed the Greatjons nose flair and wide eyes. “I will not tolerate this disrespect for my people.”

As he turned to walk away, Robb in his anger decided to speak up in his own anger, throwing his arm up to point at the man who had turned his back. “So much for Northern values, seems that some have no loyalty or courage. Seems that some only show oathbreaking and cowardice.”

Barely finishing his sentence, Robb was immediately come upon by the overbearing man. “No child will ever lecture me on cowardice.”

And then he shocked the entire room by unsheathing the sword, pointing it at Robbs throat. But before Jon could even reach for Blackfyre, the Greatjons hand was ripped away from its position by the pounce of Grey Wind. The greatsword clattered on the floor, followed by the drips of blood that leaked from where two fingers used to be on a hand.

Jon half expected a brawl to begin from the result, but something even crazier happened. The man’s face shook from one of amazement to one of a weird pride as he howled with laughter, causing everyone else to awkwardly laugh in response. “It seems you are a Stark after all, and not a young prick pretending to play king.”

He proceeds to stick out his bloody and disfigured hand towards Robb, to which Robb shakes without hesitation, which Jon thought took some courage.

“My men will fight for you, and I will follow you.” The Greatjon raises his clean left hand over his heart.

Robb just exhales. “Good. And my first command is for you to have that wound seen to now. I can’t have any of my Lords dying before we get to the battlefield.”

The giant man, smiles and nods before strolling out of the room, frightening a messenger who comes into the hall. The small timid man shakes himself to gain some courage before kneeling before Robb, who grabs him by the shoulders raising him up. “For Gods sake, I’m not a Lord, there is no need to kneel. What news have you brought?”

The small man coughed to try and get it out. “The Mormonts and Flints have just arrived to set up camp, and word has come from the Manderlys. They will be able to reach the Moat Cailin with a fortnight.”

Robb stared out like he does, just nodding to the words that were spoken. Turning to the Lords, he spoke. “Organise your men, we start marching in four days. And soon, Westeros will realise what we mean by Winter is Coming.”

It was met with thunderous banging of fists on the tables and the growl of the men shouting “Aye.” And for the first time, Jon seriously realised that he was going to war. As the Vanguard commander.

_Shit._

 

~~~~~#~~~~~

 

Jon had to lead at the front of the line, right at the head of the Vanguard. He would be the first to step out of the safety of the North, out into the terrifying South where their enemies lay, ready to pounce at any moment. Riding at the front with him would be his main officers. Cley, Rodrik, Ramsay and Jory, who Jon had managed to get after asking Robb multiple times. Everyone had said their final goodbyes. All ready to leave.

The next morning after a tiring night, he woke up to see the lovely lady beside him smiling at him, not letting go of his hand. He brought his hand, cupping her cheek, kissing Alayne goodbye, not saying a word, just letting their heads lean against one another. An unspoken promise laid between them.

Jon grabbed his leathers, his armour and his sword, putting it all on. He sighed before leaving the room, having to yank up the white wolf that laid at the fireplace. Walking out of the room, he didn’t look back. Jon couldn’t afford to look back.

As he approached his horse, he found it well-groomed and already saddled. Sighing, he turned to the suspiciously large bale of hay. “I wonder who could’ve done this? Such a terrible job, a two-year-old could have done better.”

“Hey, it took me time on that” argued a mousy voice from the bale.

Jon sighed. “Arya, get out here.”

Arya got out and ran to Jon, leaping once again into his arms.

“Arya, you’re supposed to be asleep” Jon annoyingly pointed out.

“I couldn’t not see you leave. You’re my big brother who I love.” Arya quietly said. “I’m going to miss you.”

Jon just sighed. “Aye, I love you and I’m going to miss you too.” A lone tear began to drip off his face. “More than you can imagine.”

After she nearly squeezed the life out of him, he plopped her down onto the ground.

“Have you named him yet? The horse?” She asked nicely.

In all honesty, Jon had never named a horse. He had always had to use multiple ones so he never got into the habit of naming them. “No, I have not.”

She tilted her head for a moment. “Saviour. Call him Saviour.”

Jon sighed. He had to leave, and he couldn’t argue. “Saviour is a good name.” Tears began to fall down her cheek as they looked at one another, Jon’s eyes beginning to mirror hers more with every drop. “I’m sorry, but I have to go now.”

She just nodded, and Jon climbed up into the saddle with Ghost at his side. “Go see Robb, he will want to say his goodbyes, he doesn’t leave for another hour.”

Once again, she nodded. “Please don’t die.”

Jon just awkwardly laughed. “Don’t worry, I won’t. Us Starks are hard to kill.”

He then proceeded to hit his heals onto the horse and he began to ride out, giving Arya one final smile before leaving who laughed and smiled back. Something he would remember for the rest of his days. One of those memories he would cling to in the darkest moments.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I felt that was a good place to end the first chapter. I will try to update this about once every 4 days. 
> 
> Anyway, I hoped you enjoy this beginning. Early on, the timings of events remain close but will spread out as the story progresses as story expands. This will be written primarily as a Jon POV story, but it will shift every few chapters to allow for another views on his story and to develop other plotlines.
> 
> Also, when it becomes more relevant, I will post the ages of everyone - it might be slightly different to the show and books as this story is a mix of both.


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